


Monsters Chasing Dreams

by LostChanceTo



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassination Attempt(s), Enemies to Lovers, M/M, but like it's professional enemies, they respect each other and that's the entire basis of their relationship, what am i forgetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-10-27 02:38:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17758196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostChanceTo/pseuds/LostChanceTo
Summary: Megatron is the Kaonite-Tarnian Second, straining under the failing leadership of an insane ruler.Optimus Prime is a commander in the Iaconian Elite Guard - or as elite as it gets after over a century of war.Can the newly bonded mechs navigate culture shock and assassination attempts without breaking the newborn alliance between their respective city-states - or will they shatter upon impact with one of the oldest forces of hate in their corner of Cybertron?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We're gonna see if I can't update every other Monday. :D

Megatron stood in the hallway before his lord’s private quarters. The walls were thin and even from this distance he could hear his lord pace and yell at the creatures inside his processor. Megatron leaned back against the wall, a rare expression of exhaustion, and let his helm clunk against the metal. His lord was insane and if his frequent references to his imaginary friends didn’t prove it, the neverending war did.

 

The thought had Megatron shoving off the wall. He’d couldn’t afford to stand around being melodramatic - even if he wanted to. He strode over to the grand double doors, back straight, anxiety tingling at his fingers. Megatron adjusted his fans and locked them at their current speed. If he got heated, it wasn’t for his lord to know. Then, joints stiff from the tension, Megatron knocked. The room fell silent.

 

“Come in.” Rough and deep, his lord’s voice boomed through the thick doors.

 

Megatron opened one and stepped inside. His lord towered in the middle of the room, face drawn into a mockery of a smile, fans screeching to cool down his heavily armored protoform. Megatron wished, for a second, that his armor was thicker to combat the sword hanging by his lord’s side. The room was messy, shattered armor and broken weapons strewn over the floor. The recharge station was shoved against the wall, cables drooping over the energon stained floor.

 

“Lord Megazarak,” Megatron said with a slight bow. As Second, he was allowed some liberties when it came to respect. Megatron’s lord walked forwards and clapped a hand on Megatron’s upper arm, just under the kibble of his shoulders. Megatron clasped his forearm in response.

 

“What brings you here?” Lord Megazarak asked, voice echoing around the room. He’d had acoustics installed a few days earlier. He walked to his berth and sat comfortably. Megatron took Lord Megazarak’s place in the center of the room, back strut stiff. He clasped his hands behind his back.

 

“I have a request,” Megatron said with as much emotional intimacy as he could manage, “something personal with wide reaching effects.” Lord Megazarak raised an eye ridge and gestured for Megatron to continue. Megatron waited a beat, to pull together the thoughts that had raged at his processor since the day he onlined.

 

“My lord,” Megatron said, “we have been at war for almost a hundred years. Iacon has held out, despite our sieges and attacks. By all means, they’ve proved themselves a powerhouse. Ultra Magnus can take the both of us in a fight and come out online. His older creation can hold his own against many of our strongest soldiers, and I’m sure with experience his younger one will be no different. They would make a formidable ally.” Lord Megazarak’s expression darkened.

 

“You’re suggesting I end the war?” Lord Megazarak snarled, face falling into something akin to feral disgust. Megatron pushed back the fear now eating at his spark and raised his chin in a show of, not defiance, but strength. Lord Megazarak glared, but settled back against his berth. His optics were glowing and despite all their years together, Megatron couldn’t tell if it was from anger or suspicion.

 

Either could be a death sentence, as far as Lord Megazarak was concerned.

 

“I’m saying that we are not using our resources to their full potential,” Megatron said. He forced himself to pace, his arms open and gesturing. He wouldn’t get what the people needed by begging or by copying the Iaconians’ rigid formalities. Lord Megazarak might see reason by use of passion. It was the way he’d campagned his way to power, after all. “Iacon and Kaon are two powerhouses. Kaon, for the strength and dedication of our people, and the energon we mine. Iacon, for their rigid military structure and the political influence they guard.

 

“Together, we could do great things. Instead of sending our people to die at the hands of the Iaconian Civil Military, we should send them to gain power in the world. Isn’t it better to be respected within Cybertron? Our trade is limited by our war, no one will enter a deal with a warring state. Especially when our opponent is Iacon. They have more than prove themselves strong enough to be a valuable ally. It would be foolish to not take advantage of that.”

 

Lord Megazarak snorted. “And you would allow them into our most private parts? You would let them force their military upon our people? Imbecile. I should have left you in the pit I found you in.” Megatron grit his teeth, but forced himself to not react.

 

“It’s for the people that I’m asking,” Megatron insisted, “I want them to be able to choose. We are a nation based on choice and this war allows very little of that. If they want to leave the mines, if they want to stage a coup, if they want to raise a new generation of younglings, they should be able to. This war is stealing those choices, my Lord. It’s stealing their natural rights.” Lord Megazarak lowered his head, thinking. Megatron waited.

 

“And what if that choice is to betray me?” Lord Megazarak said. He raised his head. His optics burned with anger, instead of the fear anyone else would have worn. This was a familiar turn of events, a prompt Megatron was intimate with after years of service. He allowed his own faceplates to shift into something darker, something dangerous and normally reserved for the battlefield.

 

“That is why I am here, my Lord,” Megatron said and stepped forward to kneel at Lord Megazarak’s feet. “That is why I am your Second,  _ me,  _ and not just anyone off the streets. I can protect you, I  _ will  _ protect you. Anyone who dares oppose you will have to go through me.” Lord Megazarak’s anger melted into the smug look of someone who thought he’d won.

 

“As you should,” he said and drew his large legs up onto the berth. In a movement that even a blind man wouldn’t call graceful, Lord Megazarak scooted back to sit cross legged. “You’re my loyal servant, after all.” Megatron ducked his head, half in reverence, half to hide his rage.

 

“Of course, my Lord,” he said anyway. Lord Megazarak’s engines hummed louder for a minute as he thought. Megatron watched him from the edge of his optics, careful.

 

“I like your proposal,” Lord Megazarak finally said, “but what if we go farther?” Megatron dug his claws into his servos to keep from growling his disagreement. “We’ll call for this ceasefire, like you asked. No more overt killing. We should attack from the inside. Use their naivety against them. Political powerhouse or not, they are a relatively new city-state. They don’t know the ins and outs of, what one may call, an assassination plot.”

 

“You’re going to murder Ultra Magnus,” Megatron said quietly and Lord Megazarak laughed, wild and with abandon. Megatron’s fuel tank sank to his peds and he tried near desperately to boot the mounting horror from his system.

 

“I’m going to do a lot more than murder him,” Lord Megazarak said gleefully. He shoved himself off the berth and landed behind Megatron with a thud. “I’m going to tear him apart! I’m going to destroy him and everyone he loves!”

 

“My Lord,” Megatron said and Lord Megazarak waved at him dismissively. Megatron turned so his back rested against the berth, but he didn’t dare rise from his position on the floor.

 

“I have a plan,” Lord Megazarak cooed. He turned to Megatron, optics burning with the strength of his conviction. “Maybe not so worthy of a Gladiator like you. But! You won’t have an active part, I assure you. I can’t tell you what it is, though.” Megatron vented out his engines in exasperation.

 

“My Lord,” he protested, “how could you not tell me your plan? If I am to help you execute it, I need to know what it is.” Lord Megazarak sunk to his knees and grabbed Megatron’s servos.

 

“You’ll know it eventually,” he said, “but I need your skills in deception. You’ll get your peace yet, my loyal Second.” Megatron frowned up at him. Lord Megazarak’s engine hiked up in pitch. “Don’t worry, I have use of you. You’ll appreciate this when it’s all over and done for. For now, pretend I’ve agreed to your ploy of a ceasefire. Gather your resources, your justifications, and your knowledge of Iacon.” Megatron had no choice but agree.

 

“Yes, my Lord,” he said. Lord Megazarak rose and held out a hand. Megatron took it. Lord Megazarak lifted him up and pressed his fist against Megatron’s chest - close enough to tear open Megatron’s chest and destroy his spark. A  warm parting gesture and a threat. Megatron mimicked the gesture, as always marvelling at how close his Lord let him be, and Lord Megazarak slipped away, back to laying on the berth. “Tell me if and when you have use of me, my Lord.”

 

“I think I will,” he said slowly. Megatron half bowed and exited the room. He knew when he wasn’t welcomed.

 

\---

 

Optimus Prime was assisting the field medics when the messenger ran up. The recentmost ceasefire was a blessing and a curse - the soldiers had a minute to recover from the non-stop warfare, but the medical tents were also overloaded. Too many mecha needed prosthetics, or a discharge slip due to extreme injury, or to get a psych evaluation.

 

So he had sat himself down with a couple of his higher ranking officers, all of which had basic medical training in case of emergency, and started a little medic station. The effect was twofold: the soldiers with light injuries wouldn’t clog up the medical tents, which needed as much space as possible to deal with life threatening injuries and the like; and the soldiers built up a rapport with the officers.

 

Mecha were more willing to struggle for the people who struggled with them. That alone was able to quell Sentinel’s whining and he too sat with the officers.

 

Optimus had just finished closing off the leaking energon tubes of a small soldier who was in desperate need for a psych eval (if the way he shook and babbled at nothing meant anything) when he saw the messenger. Nondescript, painted a mix of grays to match Cybertron’s ground, he stood and stared silently at Optimus.

 

“Thank you,” Optimus said to the mech, who paused to stare at him, shocked. Optimus took the mech’s servos in his. “I’d like to advise you to make an appointment with Rung, alright?” The mech seemed to know what this meant, and his face creased in a mix of horror and shame. Optimus shook his head a little. “It’s just a psych eval, there’s nothing wrong or bad about it. You need to be on the top of your game, alright?”

 

“Alright,” the babbling mech said. His shoulders relaxed and Optimus smiled at him. He rose, and helped the mech to his feet.

 

“I have to go,” Optimus said, as much as to his fellow officers as it was to the mech. He pressed his forehead to the mech’s and the mech walked away, now wearing a serious smile. The other officers had paused their work.

 

“Go where?” Rodimus Prime asked and Optimus gestured at the messenger. Rodimus’ optics widened in surprise and he stood as well. “I’ll come too.”

 

“You’re not even supposed to be here,” Optimus said severely and Rodimus glanced away, his shoulders hunching. Optimus walked over to press his forehead to Rodimus’, then over to the messenger, who fell into a salute.

 

“Optimus Prime, sir!” He said. Optimus saluted him back.

 

“At ease,” Optimus said, “is it from Ultra Magnus?” The messenger fell into parade ease, optics going dim as he likely read off his HUD.

 

“Ultra Magnus requests your presence at the command tent,” the messenger said. Optimus frowned and shifted his weight onto one leg, arms crossed. The messenger’s optics brightened as he returned his gaze to Optimus’. “He gave no details or context.”

 

“Thank you,” Optimus said, “dismissed.” The messenger saluted and hurried off. His paint job made him difficult to keep track of, so Optimus couldn’t even watch him go. Optimus sighed and, with a longing look back at the makeshift medical station his officers were now running without him, he walked away.

 

The command tent sat at the very center of the camp. It was by far the biggest one and not only because it belonged to Ultra Magnus. More often than not, Optimus recharged in it as well. The walk there, however, was long. Many of the mechs Optimus passed fell into a salute. A brave few chose instead to catch up to him for a more intimate clasp of the servos.

 

Ultra Magnus stood in the center of the tent, leaning over the table. There was a map engraved in the center of it. Optimus walked to his commander’s side and fell into a crisp salute. 

 

“Ultra Magnus, sir,” he said. Ultra Magnus looked up at him. His shoulders relaxed and he sighed.

 

“Lord Megazarak has called for a ceasefire,” Ultra Magnus said by way of greeting. Optimus took the cue for what it was and fell into a far more informal resting position than he’d normally tolerate from himself. “I can’t imagine why. Normally we only get one once every three days.” Optimus leaned over the table himself to inspect the map and the markers signaling troop locations and movements.

 

“I can’t see any tactical reason,” Optimus said. Ultra Magnus brought a servo up to rub at the bridge of his nose. Optimus frowned at him. It seemed like he was also leaning towards being more informal than necessary. “Has he called for negotiations?”

 

“He has,” Ultra Magnus confirmed and Optimus’ engine revved nervously. Ultra Magnus glanced over at him, but Optimus couldn’t meet his optics. “He claims he wants to draft a peace treaty, to be ratified some time within the next couple days.” Optimus’ head snapped towards his commander.

 

“Couple days?” Optimus said, voice raising. Ultra Magnus turned his full attention to Optimus and the outraged words caught in his throat. “Sorry, sir.”

 

“You’re being oddly emotional,” Ultra Magnus said. Not accusatory, he was never accusatory with Optimus. But there was a slight steel to his voice that told Optimus that he wouldn’t be allowed to just pass it off.

 

“I just,” Optimus said, finding his servos balled into fists. He forced them to relax. “It’s nothing. Just - anxious, I guess.” Ultra Magnus stared at him for a couple more seconds before he nodded.

 

“Don’t lose focus,” Ultra Magnus said in a hushed voice. Optimus nodded and Ultra Magnus reached for his shoulder. Optimus covered his servo with his own. Affection from Ultra Magnus was few and far in between. Optimus dropped his servo first, so as not to make his commander uncomfortable. Ultra Magnus’ followed a second later.

 

“Thank you, sir,” Optimus said and straightened his shoulders, “the people are, as always, my first priority.” He forced his emotions from frontal processing, so they were nothing more than discomfort in his fuel tank. It went, but not without clawing and clinging to his spark. Ultra Magnus had already returned his attention to the map, jaw clenched, clutching to the Magnus Hammer.

 

“Send a messenger to get Rodimus,” Ultra Magnus said. Optimus’ head snapped towards him. Ultra Magnus looked up, soft smile on his face. A smile he never wore for Optimus. “Don’t play dumb, I know he’s here. He’s not exactly subtle.” Optimus sighed and walked to the tent flaps.

 

“He shouldn’t even be here,” Optimus grumbled as he waved for one of the two messengers on duty. She hurried to Optimus’ side, falling into a salute. “Can you go get Rodimus? He should be with the other officers, at the makeshift medical station. Tell him to come quickly.” The messenger shouted her agreement and was off as soon as Optimus dismissed her.

 

“It’s not like you weren’t the same,” Ultra Magnus said, the fond tone and smile dropped away. Optimus walked back to his side, even if the child in him was screaming to run from his commander and his guilt. “At least, if he’s here, he’s not making trouble somewhere else.”

 

“He’s supposed to be in command of the militia and police force,” Optimus said, “that’s a real responsibility that he’s shirking. Iacon needs -” Ultra Magnus shook his head and Optimus stopped his rant before it could start. Ultra Magnus again turned his full attention to Optimus.

 

“You and him were built differently,” he said, “you craved that kind of responsibility. He just wants to be free. I should have figured that out. But look where we are now.” He gave Optimus a significant look, chin lowered, eye ridges raised, a knowing look in his optics.

 

Optimus flinched. He dropped his optics and turned away but couldn’t bring himself to say more than a quiet, “I’m sorry.” It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t give Ultra Magnus a chance to reply and pointed at the map. “Have they specified a meeting place?”

 

His commander watched him for a moment, a strange look on his faceplates, before he nodded. He leaned back over the table and grabbed a little red figure from its usual spot. This red one was much taller than the other shapeless red figures that signified the enemy. The Iaconian troops were painted blue, the color of their optics and of their sparks.

 

Optimus knew that, despite the red of their optics, Kaonite and Tarnian sparks weren’t red. They were the same shade of blue as Iaconians. He didn’t want to think about why he knew that.

 

“He wants to meet right here,” Ultra Magnus said and put down the figure in the middle of no bot’s land. “What do you think?”

 

From what Optimus could remember, that area wasn’t so easily defendable. It was the reason they had been stuck fighting there for the last few years, it was why Optimus was shipped there at the earliest possible moment. It was the center of a slight valley between two hills, backed up and nowhere to escape to. Optimus didn’t like their odds there.

 

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Optimus said. Ultra Magnus nodded, turned his back to the map, and crossed his arms. “Sir?”

 

“It’s the least advantageous position on this battlefield,” Ultra Magnus said, “surrounded by the high ground we’re both desperate to take. So why would he choose it, and therefore give himself less of an advantage over us, if he didn’t mean to call negotiations earnestly?” Optimus frowned and crossed his own arms, but he didn’t look away from the map, optics scanning for any advantage they’d forgotten.

 

“He could have  _ earnestly  _ wanted to lure us into a disadvantuous spot to ambush us,” Optimus said, “he could position his people along the hills, on the other side, and we’d never see them coming.” Ultra Magnus shifted and Optimus glanced up at his commander to make sure he hadn’t overstepped. “There wouldn’t be anything stopping him if he wanted to attack.”

 

“He seemed sincere,” Ultra Magnus said. Optimus gave him a dead look.

 

“You were the one who taught me not to trust non-Iaconians,” Optimus said and Ultra Magnus turned to look at him. Optimus avoided his gaze and opened his mouth to say something else, to postpone this conversation. It had been brewing between the two of them for years. But before he could, the tent flaps were thrown open dramatically.

 

“What’s up?” Rodimus said, loud and obnoxious. Optimus frowned at him and the excited smile on his face died. Ultra Magnus shifted, back strut ramrod straight, and explained the situation to him. Rodimus walked over the map, face set. “Wow, that’s great and all, but why I am being involved? I’m a civilian leader.”

 

“A civilian leader who’s not doing his job,” Optimus said and Rodimus grinned at him, happy and daring just like he was.

 

“We need you to help with the negotiations,” Ultra Magnus said, “and assuming you’ve been doing your job properly, out of Iaconian High Command you’re the most qualified to assist us.” Rodimus crossed his arms, confusion flitting across his faceplates.

 

“Wouldn’t you be the most qualified?” Rodimus said. “Optimus has been running this sham of a war since he was discharged from the academy and you - you’ve been acting civil leader since forever - we live under military rule! You are the most qualified here. Optimus knows the war, I know the crime rates, but  _ you  _ know your city-state.” Ultra Magnus reached for Rodimus, pulled him close. Optimus looked away, his spark aching.

 

“I am not negotiating,” Ultra Magnus said quietly. “Like you said, I am the acting civil leader. What I know most about is policies and the law. You don’t have that same knowledge, because your focus has always been our people. You know most about our culture, our people’s wants and desires, what they are and aren’t willing to tolerate.” Rodimus’ optics flared and he tried to pull away. “Roddy.” Rodimus froze, then slouched over.

 

“Creator.” Rodimus’ voice came out in half a gasp, pitched up and shaky. Optimus had to turn away. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t watch what he was routinely denied.

 

“You are ready for this,” Ultra Magnus said, too loud to block out. “You can do this. I trust you, my creation.” Optimus lowered his head and wished desperately that his commander was speaking to him.

 

“Thank you,” Rodimus whispered.

 

\---

 

In the end, they decided to meet inside the valley, and have the messengers discretely patrol the area - they were already camouflaged and were built for speed and silence. Optimus and Ultra Magnus were both good enough fighters to hold off an ambush for at least a couple minutes, and Rodimus was under strict instructions to extract himself from the situation as soon as possible. Ultra Magnus had his Magnus Hammer, Optimus was armed to the teeth, and Rodimus had extra ammunition for his energy bow.

 

Even so, Optimus didn’t feel right walking into no bots’ land. Ultra Magnus walked first, shoulders squared, partially hiding his creations behind his large frame. Rodimus walked in front of Optimus, energy bow in servo. He was scanning the area, anxious. Optimus wanted to comfort him, but he didn’t feel so comfortable doing that so close to his commander.

 

So Optimus contented himself with keeping a sharp optic out. All his weapons were still in subspace. If they were ambushed, if it started with a shootout, Optimus was either offlined from the get-go or he would be injured. Injured didn’t always mean down and out, Optimus told himself, his objective was to protect Rodimus. Ending the war was a close second.

 

Of the two of them, Rodimus was the peacetime leader. Rodimus was, as the people often referred to him as, the Chosen One. As thus, despite his military background, Rodimus needed more protection than Optimus or Ultra Magnus. Military leaders would come and go. Civil leaders were a different, more important breed.

 

The walk was uneventful. By the time they’d reached the hills surrounding the meeting place, Rodimus had already relaxed. He stared out across the energon-stained mud, face pulled into something resembling grief. Optimus watched as Rodimus’ expression steadily darkened and steeled himself for the argument Rodimus was about to initiate. 

 

Sure enough, Rodimus stopped walking to stare pointedly at Optimus. Optimus paused by his side and Ultra Magnus turned as well. Rodimus gestured out at the surrounding hills, jaw gritted, optics wild.

 

“You’ve destroyed this land,” Rodimus said. Optimus cycled air through his vents. “Look at it. It’s ruined!” Optimus didn’t look.

 

“We’re at war, Rodimus,” Optimus said, calm as he could be under the circumstances, “I’ve been doing what I can, but it takes two to fight. The enemy hasn’t considered negotiations until today. I’m not the one to get angry at here.” Rodimus continued to glare, but after a couple seconds his face fell into something sadder and he stepped forwards to hug Optimus. Optimus didn’t return it, but he did raise a hand to press against Rodimus’ helm.

 

Rodimus took a step back, frowning. Optimus waited until he had glued himself back together to gesture down to the tent at the bottom of the valley. Rodimus glanced over at it, up at Ultra Magnus, then nodded. He dropped his head and Optimus, carefully, dropped a servo on his shoulder. Rodimus smiled at him and squared his shoulders. Ultra Magnus started walking again.

 

It was hard to remember that Rodimus hadn’t been fighting as long as Optimus had. It was hard to remember that Rodimus was younger, more sheltered than Optimus ever had the luxury to be. He normally adjusted to each new situation so easily but - but he had never been in a real battle. Ultra Magnus had made sure of it. Even now, he was more of a misery tourist, an inspiring reminder of home than a soldier. When you spent so much time around soldiers, it was hard to remember that civilians, because Rodimus was as much of a civilian as anyone else in Iacon, reacted badly to the evidence of violence.

 

Optimus’ background processing rang with the steady flow of audible pings, each confirming the security of the area. Optimus had them all on a slightly different schedule - each sent a ping every other minute, and Optimus would receive them all one after another, one every ten seconds. On the walk over he’d pieced together a rough music program to use the pings as a beat. If anyone encountered any trouble, the music would stutter and Optimus’ lower processing would catch it.

 

Or that was the idea, at least. In practice, Optimus didn’t know. He’d never tried this before.

 

Ultra Magnus’ gait slowed and Optimus strode forwards to stand alongside him. They exchanged a look. Optimus entered first, followed by Rodimus, followed by Ultra Magnus. Like the tent Ultra Magnus and Optimus shared, this one had a clear minimalist design. The tent was empty part from the center, where an engraved table and four chairs stood. The chair furthest from the tent flaps held one of Optimus’ most dreaded opponents.

 

Megatron towered over even Ultra Magnus. Even sitting, he was impressive. Gunmetal gray with large shoulders and red highlights, Megatron certainly had the feel of a second-in-command down to an art. He wasn’t nearly as scary as Megazarak, but looking at him now, out of the grit and grime of a battlefield, Optimus could easily pinpoint why. Megazarak wore bulky, overly complicated armor. Megatron had limited himself to only his thick natural armor and a functional arm-mounted cannon.

 

Somehow, this only increased Optimus’ respect for him.

 

Optimus stepped forwards. He held out a servo, fully expecting Megatron to simply clasp it. Megatron grabbed his forearm instead, twisted Optimus’ arm so that Optimus’ servo was close enough to Megatron’s forearm as well. Optimus focused on the music playing on his internal audio systems to take his mind off how close he was to a mech who could so easily crush him.

 

“This is how we greet each other in my city-state,” Megatron rumbled. His voice boomed around the tent, strangely warm. Optimus nodded and clasped Megatron’s forearm as well. “It’s more neutral than formal. Do your people also have a particular greeting?” Optimus regarded him carefully and rearranged their hands so that Optimus had curled both of his smaller servos around Megatron’s larger one.

 

“A formal greeting is a salute,” Optimus said, suddenly over aware of how much lighter his voice was in comparison to Megatron’s, “this is our informal greeting.” Megatron hummed and Optimus dropped his servos.

 

“It’s an honor to meet you off the battlefield,” Megatron said. Optimus nodded and stepped back. He turned to Rodimus, his brother standing with a suspicious stare.

 

“This is Rodimus Prime,” Optimus introduced and reached out for Rodimus’ arm. Rodimus let himself be pulled closer to Megatron and Optimus. “If you were serious about the negotiations, you’re going to be doing a great deal of it with him.” Rodimus carefully held out his servo and Megatron took it in a mimicry of the greeting Optimus had shown him. His servo dwarfed Rodimus’. 

 

“Are you not participating, Ultra Magnus?” Megatron asked and turned to him. Optimus took the distraction as an opportunity to lead Rodimus to one of the seats. It was close to the tent flaps - both defensible and not. Optimus placed himself right next to his brother. 

 

“No,” Ultra Magnus said and took the third chair. He sat between Rodimus and Megatron. “Where is Megazarak?” Megatron’s faceplates pulled into something close to exasperation.

 

“He doesn’t like waking up early,” Megatron said, “but he will be joining us eventually.” Rodimus frowned and opened his mouth - Megatron held up a servo to stop him as he too sat down. “Our leadership isn’t so tightly regulated as yours is. Even if it was, he’s our commander and king. He has the right to wake up whenever he wants.”

 

“No king is above the law,” Optimus said, maybe a little quieter than he wanted to. But he knew from years fighting him that Megatron liked to debate and - and if Megazarak wasn’t here, and they weren’t negotiating without him, then it would be better to indulge Megatron a little.

 

“Is treaty-making protocol law in Iacon?” Megatron asked, optics wide and foux innocent. “What sorry lives you lead.” Optimus’ own optics narrowed.

 

“This was a pre arranged appointment,” Optimus countered, “out of respect if nothing else, he should have been here by now.” Megatron bared his teeth, sharp but orderly. “Not only that but this is a matter of the state; his presence is of utmost importance.” Megatron put away his teeth, optics narrowed, and Optimus had been fighting him long enough to know he was about to change tactics.   
  


“What if I told you he said to start negotiations without him?” Megatron tried.

 

“Then I would say that I believe you, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable,” Optimus said. Megatron’s lips twitched up and Optimus had to stop himself from smiling as well. “And if you asked why I’d say it was my military upbringing.”

 

“I still don’t understand that,” Megatron said and turned his head to look at Ultra Magnus, “they’re both your creations, but you obviously favor the little one - Rodimus Prime.” The words hit like a stab to the spark - Optimus’ mood, lightened by the banter, fell away.  “Our intel says he didn’t have as harsh an upbringing as Optimus did. Is that true?”   
  
“That’s a line you shouldn’t cross,” Optimus said before Ultra Magnus opened his mouth. Megatron spread his servos and leaned back a little.

 

“If you’re so insistent than waiting for Lord Megazarak, we could be here for hours,” Megatron said, voice lighter and not so pointed, “I was attempting to make small talk.”

 

“Small talk about something that isn’t my past,” Optimus said. Megatron drummed his fingers on the table, waiting. The silence dragged on.

 

The pings were still coming on time. Optimus idly edited the actual tone of the music to be happier in an attempt to save his mood from falling back into the grim exhaustion it had been for most of the war. Ultra Magnus didn’t so much as twitch.

 

Rodimus broke first.

 

“Are you serious about ending the war?” He blurted. He didn’t take the words back, but there was a distinct second where he looked like he regretted speaking. Megatron looked surprised, he most likely had never heard Rodimus speak before.

 

“Yes,” he said, “I’m serious. It would benefit both of our people to end it. It would benefit us more if we were to become allies of some sort, which is what I’m aiming for here.” Rodimus crossed his arms and leaned forwards.

 

“And how are you expecting to hold an alliance together?” Rodimus looked over at Optimus, presumably for help, but Optimus didn’t know how he could help him. “We’ve been fighting for a long time, our people aren’t going to suddenly accept you as allies. And there’s no way the hostility will end so quickly. More likely than not, there’s going to be some event in the near future that will send us tumbling back into war.” Megatron shook his head.

 

“My people will accept the alliance,” Megatron said, “they know your strength and understand that, while you are a worthy opponent, you are also a worthy ally as well. If it is your people who will be trouble, then I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Besides, Lord Megazarak,” here he paused, considered, then continued, “Lord Megazarak proposed a solution during our meeting yesterday.” He didn’t elaborate and Rodimus looked at Optimus again. The music still played steadily.

 

“What’s the solution?” Optimus asked, to take some of the weight off his brother’s shoulders. Megatron waited a second before responding.

 

“He wants me to bond with one of you.”

 

The music faltered.


	2. Chapter 2

Optimus surged to his feet. As though at a signal, Rodimus was up a half second after. Optimus grabbed his brother’s arm and darted away from the tent flaps as Megatron rose to his feet. What was going on?

 

“Optimus?” Megatron asked and the little thing barely spared him a glance. He backed into the far corner, Rodimus hidden behind him, battle axe appearing out of subspace.

 

“Someone’s coming,” Optimus said quietly. Megatron was surprised - he shouldn’t have been. Of course the Iaconians would put some sort of security measure in place. But why was Optimus protecting Rodimus Prime? Kaonite intelligence claimed Rodimus was a skilled fighter, he should be able to hold his own in a real battle. Megatron pinged his lord and - lo and behold, Megazarak returned it.

 

“It’s my Lord,” Megatron said and walked to the door. Optimus watched him closely. Megatron stepped outside to find Lord Megazarak, sword in servo, camouflaged little Iaconian in the other. Megatron strode out and Lord Megazarak looked up.

 

“I thought this was one of us,” Lord Megazarak said and dropped the Iaconian. She bolted, probably back to whatever post she’d been assigned. “I was about to scold her for interrupting -”

 

“I am not the one who needs your excuses,” Megatron hissed as he stormed over, “you’ve scared our guests.” Lord Megazarak scoffed.

 

“What matter is it of mine if they’re scared?” Lord Megazarak said, too loud. There was the hum of an engine behind them, the soft grind of moving parts. Someone had came outside and Megatron’s bet was on Optimus or Ultra Magnus. Their show was now live.

 

“You were amenable to peace yesterday, my Lord,” Megatron said, significantly more restrained. “I am trying to build relations. It is a slow process and you are  _ ruining it _ .” Lord Megazarak turned fully to Megatron and Megatron paused, stiffened a little. The anger on his Lord’s face was real. Lord Megazarak took a step forwards, towered over him. Megatron didn’t dare look away.

 

“I suppose you’re right,” Lord Megazarak finally said and raised a servos to clasp at his shoulder. Megatron returned the greeting and his Lord pushed past him, all vestiges of anger gone. “And who is this? You look familiar. Have we fought before?” Megatron turned to see - Optimus. Which mean Ultra Magnus was still inside, most likely protecting Rodimus Prime.

 

“I am Optimus Prime and yes, we’ve fought once,” Optimus said and half turned to show a badly-healed gash on his side. “You gave me this.” Lord Megazarak surged forwards and grabbed Optimus by the shoulder, rough, and Optimus was too small to put his servo anywhere other than Lord Megazarak’s forearm. A greeting nonetheless.

 

“I like you, you wear your scars,” Lord Megazarak said, “I meet few Iaconians aside from Ultra Magnus, and never have I seen one allow their scars see the light of day. What inspires it? Why are you different? Have you heard my proposal to keep the treaty secure?” Optimus waited a second, probably thinking about his answer. But Lord Megazarak forged on through the silence. “I see my second has taught you our traditional greeting. What’s your brother like? Between you and your brother, who would be the better bonded for my second? Where’s Ultra Magnus? What does he think?”

 

“Excuse me,” Optimus broke in. Lord Megazarak fell silent. Next to the little Iaconian, Lord Megazarak loomed. Megatron could see now why he was such a terrifying figure in the little Iaconian propaganda he had the misfortune to have seen. “But if you would come inside, we could talk about it?” Lord Megazarak waved a servo and leaned closer.

 

“Tell me why you haven’t painted over your scars first,” Lord Megazarak said, “and then we’ll see about this - this mess of a treaty. I’m sure you’ve drafted it out somewhat?” Optimus shook his head.

 

“We were waiting for you,” Optimus said, “and I haven’t painted them over because I know that strength, or at least perceived strength, is an important part of your culture.” Lord Megazarak looked intrigued. And, to be honest, so was Megatron. He himself had never bothered to learn anything about Iaconian culture, not with the intention of using it in a benign way. Definitely not to try and use it to accept his own flaws. “I always assumed I would cover them once the war was over - whenever that would have been.”

 

“Amazing,” Lord Megazarak said, “an Iaconian who bothered to learn our culture. I do like you, is your brother as impressive?” Optimus just gestured into the tent. Megazarak narrowed his optics, then he bounced inside cheerfully. Optimus and Megatron met optics.

 

“Military libraries don’t make for good reading material,” Optimus said quietly, “and there’s something fascinating about history.” Megatron was sure that was as close to an explanation as he was going to get.

 

Knowing this, Megatron felt a little guilty for what he and Megazarak were going to do to the Iaconians. It was hard to notice in the thick of battle, but Optimus was tired. It was obvious in the slump of his shoulders, in how dim his optics were. His frame, despite showing the signs of regular maintenance, seemed dull. Optimus was younger than the war, but he held himself like -

 

He held himself like a veteran.

 

“Scars don’t mean as much as the presentation of said scars,” Megatron said quietly. Optimus’ optics brightened at the new information. “You look like you need a good buffing.”

 

“It’s been a while since I’ve had access to the proper equipment,” Optimus said, smiling a little, but it was obviously a lie. Maybe he’d just lacked the motivation. Megatron walked over to hold open the tent flap and Optimus slipped inside. Megatron followed. Ultra Magnus and Lord Megazarak were caught in a staring contest. Behind Ultra Magnus, Rodimus Prime had crossed his arms over his fiery chest plates in annoyance.

 

“One of us is going to have to stand,” Optimus interrupted and gestured at the seating. This broke the competition as both military leaders turned to count the number of chairs before taking a quick headcount. Megatron shook his head.

 

“I -” he started, but was interrupted by Ultra Magnus.

 

“Seeing as I won’t be negotiating,” he said, “I’ll stand behind Optimus and Rodimus.” Lord Megazarak pulled a disgusted expression but he didn’t challenge it. He settled down in a chair and Megatron sat to his right. Optimus sat before Rodimus did, in the seat closer to Lord Megazarak. Interesting. Was it because he considered himself Rodimus’ right servo? Did he trust Lord Megazarak less than he trusted Megatron somehow? Maybe Megatron was reading too far into it.

 

“First of all,” Rodimus Prime said, loud and - and angry, “first of  _ all _ , why should either of us bond to Megatron? I’m assuming we’re going to be going home with him, rather than him with us. You’d better be prepared to give us a hell of a lot more than you bargained for if you want a statement as big as that. And why aren’t you yourself willing to offer yourself to bond? I know in some places it would be rude to offer your second when you exist and are unmated.” Optimus didn’t agree nor disagree, just crossed his arms over the glass of his chest. 

 

“I’m bargaining for an alliance,” Lord Megazarak said, “is that not enough for the two of you?” Both shook their heads. “Fine. This whole area,” he leaned over the map to single out the area he was talking about, “will be your dowry. Along with ten thousand shanix. Happy?” Rodimus Prime thought this over, then glanced over at Optimus. They discussed quietly.

 

“We’d rather have this area,” Optimus said and stood. He walked around the table to draw out a hunk of land next to the neutral area of the closest spark field. Lord Megazark scoffed.

 

“You’ll get this area or you’ll get no alliance,” Lord Megazarak snapped. Optimus sat back down with a shrug.

 

“Then no alliance,” Optimus said, his eternal off-battlefield calm a grating edge against Lord Megazarak’s temper. Megatron grinned a little at Optimus. Rodimus Prime was a good mech, a smart mech, but Megatron was already hoping he’d get to bond with Optimus. Megatron looked down at the map and reached out to trace long half of the spark field’s surrounding area, and then the most strategic portion of the very no bots land they stood on.

 

“How about this much plus ten thousand shanix for the bonding and alliance,” Megatron offered. Optimus leaned over to talk to Rodimus Prime for a couple minutes, both with serious expressions. It was a serious affair, Megatron expected no less from either of them. Then they leaned apart and Optimus nodded.

 

“That works for us,” he said and Lord Megazarak jumped up in excitement. His servos slammed into the table and he leaned over it, eying the two Primes eagerly.

 

“So which will it be?” He asked. Optimus and Rodimus exchanged a look, then turned to their creator. Ultra Magnus stared at them, optics going wide, then he turned his head away like he couldn’t bare to look. Couldn't bare to choose. Optimus squared his shoulders and turned back to Lord Megazarak.

 

“I’ll do it,” he said. Megatron grinned - Optimus was a worthy opponent, strong and brave and smart. He would make a good bonded and, if Megatron’s plans didn’t fall through, a good king consort. The real trouble was convincing Kaon their beloved Second hadn’t bonded to someone unworthy.

 

“Optimus!” Rodimus Prime gasped and his brother reached out to cup his cheek. Some understanding passed between them and Rodimus Prime slumped into his chair, jaw gritted.

 

“Good!” Lord Megazarak said. “Good, I liked you! You already have some understanding of our culture as well. Good, good, you’re a good choice. When can we have the bonding ceremony?” Optimus’ optics widened a little and Megatron interrupted his Lord.

 

“We still have the rest of the treaty to make, my Lord,” he said. Lord Megazarak settled back into his seat with a disgruntled look.

 

“We can’t play this like a political bonding though,” Rodimus Prime - Megatron supposed he should call him his brother-in-law now - said. “There’s no way Iacon is gonna accept it, we’ve been fighting too long. Optimus is an extremely public figure as the mech essentially leading us into every battle. He’s been fighting you his whole life, essentially, they’re not gonna believe it if he says he’s ok with a political bonding to a Kaonite.” Megatron was a Tarnian, excuse Rodimus Prime. But Optimus was speaking before he had a chance to defend his heritage.

 

“We can pretend it’s a love match,” Optimus said reluctantly, “I’m sure they’ll eat up some slag about love blooming on the battlefield or something.” Rodimus Prime was already shaking his head.   
  


“Too many have seen you fight,” Rodimus Prime said quietly. “They still wouldn’t believe it.” They lapsed into silence for a couple minutes, all thinking.

 

“Optimus has shown that he’s got some background knowledge in our culture,” Megatron said slowly, “maybe we could play that as him growing interested in me? He knows we respect strength, so he gives his all in battle. He makes sure none of his men fight me because he wants me to notice him. It won’t be the Iaconian definition of romance, but it would be somewhat closer to a Kaonite’s definition. Does that sound reasonable?” Optimus looked distinctly uncomfortable, but he was nodding.

 

“I was raised military, so I would know best how to work around the rules and regulations for a secret meeting or ten,” Optimus said, “and I’m sure I could pass of the rest as subtly trying to impress you.” He looked like he was resigned to the words coming out of his mouth, but he didn’t try to take back what he said.

 

“I must admit I’ve enjoyed finding you in thick of battle,” Megatron confessed and a smile tugged at the edges of Optimus’ lips. Thick lips, another detail Megatron had only captured glimpses of mid battle. “A good rival is just as rare as a good friend.” Optimus nodded and looked over at his brother.

 

“The idea for this alliance could have been from us talking and not wanting to fight,” Optimus said, then glanced over at Megatron, “we talk enough during battle for it to believable.” Megatron nodded in agreement. Optimus sounded more comfortable now. Megatron hoped that comfort wouldn’t be leached away from him by the Iaconian government.

 

“I smile enough during battle for it to be believable,” Megatron said and had the pleasure of catching a real smile on Optimus’ faceplates, and not just the usual twitch. It was a beautiful smile. It dropped quickly, though, and Optimus returned his attention to his brother.

 

“It sounds plausible,” he said, “and at that point we’d just have to trust the soldiers will be able to corroborate the story.” Rodimus Prime pursed his lips, but finally nodded. Lord Megazarak, who’d spent the last part of the conversation practically vibrating, finally allowed his question to burst from his lips again. He was going to give himself away and Megatron wasn’t even going to stop him.

 

“So, when’s the bonding ceremony?” He said. Rodimus let himself flop back in his seat with a groan, his head thunking against his creator’s armor. 

 

“Let’s just see if we can make this treaty work,” Optimus said and pulled a datapad from his subspace. Megatron was going to look forwards to bonding to this mech, he thought. Betrayal or no betrayal, he would do a lot of good for Kaon’s government structure and lack of discipline.

 

\---

 

Optimus stared at the doors to the balcony, fuel tank rolling with nerves. Ultra Magnus and Rodimus stood off to the side, chatting about something. Optimus couldn’t pay attention to him. Elita One and Sentinel Prime stood at his sides, Elita’s arm brushing his, Sentinel’s fingers woven through his. It was only a couple minutes now until Optimus’ speech. He’d give it alone, flanked by his highest ranking officers - his best friends.

 

Megatron was flying in from Kaon. It was a long flight, he was sure to be tired by the time he reached Iacon. But they’d decided to time his arrival to Optimus’ speech, to show Optimus and Megatron together as a united front. To show they could stand strong in the face of adversity - stand strong in the face of thousands of citizens who didn’t want them there.

 

Optimus was just waiting for Megatron to ping him. He could hear the crowd outside. It was Rodimus who’d alerted the city to a special announcement. They were no doubt expecting him, but Optimus knew there rumors of the war being over. They’d sent home all troops not a day earlier. Kaon already knew what was going on, they were already celebrating. It was Iacon that Rodimus and Ultra Magnus insisted have a formal announcement.

 

Optimus received the ping and he returned it, servos shaking. He lowered his head, cycled air through his engines and released the exhaust from his vents. Rodimus and Ultra Magnus found silent. Optimus made optic contact and reminded himself again why he was doing this.

 

For his people. For the end of the war. For an alliance strong enough to last for centuries.

 

Optimus nodded to his creator and strode to the doors, his best friends falling to his sides. Optimus pushed open the doors and walked into the sunlight. The crowd fell silent, then roared as they realized what this announcement must mean, if it was Optimus giving it. The streets of Iacon were full, all screens had Optimus’ face on it, reporters shushing the crowd before falling silent to catch what he had to say. Optimus turned on the megaphone function he’d installed not too long into the war.

 

“People of Iacon,” Optimus’ voice echoed through the city-state, “mechs, femmes, veterans, and mechlings. We’ve been at war for almost a hundred years. We’ve suffered, we’ve faught, and we’ve sacrificed everything again and again and again in service of each other. And when it comes down to it, many of us would choose to take up arms again. But the Kaonite-Tarnian alliance has refused to fall.

 

“And it is in light of that strength, that the leaders of said city-states - Rodimus Prime, Ultra Magnus, Lord Megazarak, Megatron, and myself - came together and created an agreement. People of Iacon! My friends, my family, my people - rejoice! The war is over!”

 

The crowd roared, screaming and crying and jumping up and down. Optimus beamed down at them, tears welling up in his own optics. But he couldn’t cry. He wasn’t allowed to cry. He still had the second half of his announcement. Still, he didn’t do anything to dampen the mood, or to stop their celebration. They deserved it. They quieted on their own.

 

There was a dark figure in the sky, growing closer with each passing second.

 

“Yesterday, we ratified the treaty,” Optimus said, “and we’ve ended this war in more than a truce. We’ve ended with an alliance. Of course, alliances are risky and,” Optimus’ voice box glitched and failed him. He frowned and reset it, trying to ignore just how many optics were over analyzing him and his mess ups. “And in order to give this alliance a fighting chance, we’ve taken a preventative measure.”

 

“You’re doing great,” Elita whispered from where she stood at his right. Optimus clung to the encouragement and continued.

 

“A week from today, I will be bonded to Megatron, Lord Megazarak’s Second,” Optimus said as firmly as he manage. The crowd burst into chatter.

 

_ “Don’t do it!” _ Someone in the crowd yelled, the voice quickly joined by many others. Megatron was the enemy, Megatron was dangerous, Megatron would tear him apart. Optimus pursed his lips and held out his servos. They fell silent.

 

“Trust me,” Optimus called out over the anxious crowd, “more than anyone else, I know how dangerous Megatron is. I’ve fought him for almost seventy-five years. Most of my scars are his, most of my memory is filled with him - his claws, his swords, his energon.” The crowd picked back up at these words.

 

Optimus continued: “I’ve been talking to him for much of those seventy-five years. The first time I suck out to meet him must have been fifty years ago, and we’ve been discussing a peace treaty for the last thirteen. He wants this alliance as much as I do! His people are as tired of war as we are!”

 

“They don’t believe you,” Sentinel whispered. Optimus narrowed his optics and pinged Megatron.

 

The crowd fell silent - the ripples of shock and surprise were almost overwhelming in their strength. Sentinel and Elita backed away from Optimus as the roar of military grade rotors forced Optimus to mute the megaphone function so as not to start a feedback loop. 

 

Megatron transformed and landed on the balcony Optimus stood on. It shook from the force of his landing. Megatron straightened, stared over the waiting crowd, before he turned to Optimus with a little smile. He ducked close and clasped Optimus’ servo between both of his own. Megatron then slipped an arm around Optimus’ waist and turned to the shocked crowd. Optimus kinda felt that. Megatron was a lot bigger than him, his servo - big servo, covered Optimus’ whole waist.

 

“People of Iacon,” Megatron rumbled, “what an honor to meet you off the battlefield. I believe Ultra Magnus had a similar reaction to yours over the news of my and Optimus’ courtship. I’ll tell you what I told him-” which of course, was a lie, Megatron hadn’t been the one to convince Ultra Magnus - “maybe that will ease your minds.

 

“I know this is a strange romance to you, I know your ideas of love don’t revolve around the battlefield - but for my people, it does. Optimus has proven time and time again to be one of the fairytale princes I grew up praying for.” Optimus’ engine stalled and he stared up at Megatron, optics wide, spark pounding. “He’s smart, handsome, caring, strong, determined, everything I could want in a partner. I won’t put that happily ever after at risk by abusing him. And that my happy ending could bring peace and security to both our peoples - nothing would make me more proud.

 

“So I ask you trust me,” Megatron said and laid a servo over his chest plates - over his spark - and Optimus couldn’t look away, “and that you trust the judgement of your Prime, who has fought besides you for near a century. Help us make this work. Help us save our people. Help us create a happily ever after for Iacon, Kaon, and Tarn. Don’t let your fear determine the future.”

 

\--

 

“That went well,” Megatron said.

 

Rodimus snorted and crossed his arms. Ultra Magnus stood in the corner, like he had during the negotiations, expression caught between worry and his usual blank composure. The two officers, who’s names Megatron had not yet memorized, sat at a table at the other side of the room. Optimus stood at Megatron’s side, venting hard but steadily as he recovered from talking to that big a crowd.

 

“I hope so,” Optimus said after a quiet minute. Megatron hummed. The ceiling was too low for a mech as big as Megatron - he had to sit to fit. There was no way he was crawling out of the room, so he was stuck until the crowds outside left.

 

“The ending was good,” Rodimus said, “so it should hold for a good couple minutes while we sort this out. Hopefully by then the two of you have had a couple public dates. The ceremony is in a week, so it’ll have to be after. There’s too much to do.” Megatron nodded in acceptance.

 

“You won’t have to stay for the week,” Optimus said, “I’m sure you’re missing home. I can send you a datapad of what you need to know.” Megatron thought it over.

 

He’d love to go home. It was his home and besides, he needed to help reorganize his people and start working the war out of the great machine that was Kaon and Tarn. He wanted to visit the Tarnian mines, as well. . . they, more than anyone, deserved his presence. Megatron was sure some of the older, more lucky miners would remember the tunneler with stars in his optics.

 

“I’ll come back three days before the ceremony,” he said eventually. That left four days to visit the mines, make headway on new systems for their industries to operate under, maybe start on a trading network. Now that the war was over, Megatron could think about these things again.

 

“Alright,” Optimus agreed. He smiled at Megatron, a little uncertain. Megatron squashed his urge to explain his thoughts to the little mech. At least, he wouldn’t dare to infront of Optimus’ family and friends. Megatron didn’t know how trustworthy they were.

 

Which reminded him of his coup. Megatron rearranged himself so he could lean back against the wall, legs splayed in front of him. Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics, but Optimus just walked over to join him, quiet and tired. Neither of them had much rest the past few days, too busy trying to work out the treaty and then the time table of their “romance” and then. . .

 

Optimus had looked cute, recharging slumped over a cluster of datapads, mouth gaping open, frame twitching with the strength of his dreams. For all his bright colors, Optimus was easy on the optics. More so now that he’d buffed himself to a shine. Megatron was already happy he got Optimus instead of Rodimus, just based on familiarity. Little thoughts like those - Optimus was cute, Optimus was dedicated, Optimus was smart - gave him hope for their sham of a bonding.

 

Megatron let his head lean back against the wall, and settled in for a long, awkward wait.

 

\--

 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Elita said. Optimus raised an optic ridge at her. She shrugged. “You don’t. If you wanted, you could call this all off right now.” Optimus shook his head and let his optics fall shut.

 

Megatron had left an hour or two ago. Optimus had sat himself down to wait out the crowd with him. After Megatron’s kind words during his speech, Optimus kind of felt - it didn’t really matter  _ what  _ he felt - but he’d felt a little special. Just a bit. So he’d sat down with Megatron as a quiet thank you. Megatron hadn’t told him to get lost, so there was that.

 

Rodimus had left within an hour of the wait, unable to stand the silence that resulted from no on really knowing how to talk with Megatron in the room. Sentinel had left too, only to come back later with energon for everyone. Elita and Ultra Magnus didn’t leave the room.

 

Megatron had left and taught Optimus the Tarnian way of saying goodbye. The one in the more powerful position put a servo on the subordinate’s spark and the subordinate returned with a servo on the shoulder.  _ “A warning and show of care, _ ” Megatron had said,  _ “and so war has twisted our culture.” _

 

He’d left before Optimus had the chance to teach him an Iaconian goodbye.

 

Optimus, Elita, and Sentinel had retired to the shared officer rooms. Optimus didn’t have any of his own in the Iaconian castle anymore. He’d given up the privilege and luxuries of Ultra Magnus’ firstborn to lead the war. And now he was getting bonded, so it didn’t matter if he had his own rooms.

 

“You know I can’t do that, Elita,” Optimus said. His head rested in her lap, Sentinel curled around Optimus’s side. Longarm and Smokescreen had joined them at some point, Longarm’s long arms stretched over all of them in a warm blanket of sorts. Smokescreen had used his power to create a soft mist in the air. Rodimus had comm.ed Optimus to say he’d join the cuddle pile eventually. “I have a duty to do.”

 

“Screw duty,” Smokescreen said. Optimus rebooted his visual input systems to see his face buried in a pillow so the vents on his back could pump out mist without trouble. “Let the world burn.” Sentinel snorted. “Shut up, Sentinel, I’m literally quoting you.”

 

“Fragger,” Sentinel said with a huff. Longarm giggled and shifted so he could pat Sentinel’s bulbous chin with a servo, despite being on the other side of the pillow nest they’d thrown together.

 

“Besides, it’s just Megatron,” Optimus said, “what’s the worst that can happen to me?” His officers all groaned. “What?”

 

“That thinking is gonna get you killed,” Longarm said.

 

“And when it does I’m gonna laugh my aft off,” Sentinel said firmly. Optimus turned to frown at him and got only a cheeky grin in reply.

 

“Don’t tempt fate,” Elita said, quiet and sad, “we all know how badly that turns out.” She raised her arm - the replacement arm, the color just one shade off from her green and gold. Optimus flinched away from it, curled into Sentinel’s side so he wouldn’t have to look. Elita sighed and reached over to run a finger along one of his finials.

 

“Thanks, Elita, you’ve killed the mood,” Smokescreen griped from his pillow.

 

“There wasn’t much of a mood to start with,” Longarm said, “and besides, it’s not like she’s wrong. I’ve lost too many agents to that sort of thinking. You need to stay on guard Optimus, who knows what they’ll do to you.” Optimus pushed his face father into the juncture of Sentinel’s thick neck and wide shoulders. “Don’t hide. You can’t hide from this.”

 

“Slag, you’re so depressing,” Rodimus’ voice came from the door. Elita slipped away from the cuddle pile and walked over to him. She took a couple of the (several) bags of goodies and junk food Rodimus held. Optimus raised his head to watch them walk over. “Optimus is getting bonded, we could at least try to be supportive.”

 

“I just don’t want him getting hurt,” Longarm said, sitting up and reaching for a bag of crystal chips. 

 

Sentinel sat up as well, and pulled Optimus into his lap. They were about the same size, but Sentinel was the only one big enough for Optimus to sit on comfortably. Sentinel, bless his spark, knew that and pulled Optimus into his arms whenever he could. Optimus made sure to return the affection when Sentinel was in need of a good, long hug.

 

“Besides, we’re sending a group with him,” Rodimus said and plopped down on top of Smokescreen’s prone form. Smokescreen groaned and thrashed weakly against Rodimus’ weight. Rodimus grinned at him as he dumped the snack bags in the middle of the pillow nest.

 

“Please tell me you’re sending Cliffjumper,” Longarm said, rolling his optics, “he’s getting on Mirage’s last neurotransmitter. Blurr’s been egging them on, it’s getting out of servo.” Optimus tilted his head at the familiar name.

 

“Blurr? Agent Blurr, blue with the head thing?” He asked. Longarm nodded. “He’s oddly distinctive for a secret agent, isn’t he?”

 

“Leave the poor mech alone,” Longarm griped, but he was visibly heating up under scrutiny. “Anyway - Rodimus, who are we sending with Optimus?” All of Optimus’ supposedly mature officers leaned in with slag eating grins, eager to jump on the gossip so easily dropped in their laps.

 

“Agent Blurr, huh? Strange mech to carry a flame for,” Rodimus said. Longarm shoved a servoful of crystal chips in his mouth and glared at him. Rodimus opened his mouth to say something else, but Longarm extended a long arm and slapped his servo over his mouth. Elita popped up and limboed under it in an intense display of self control.

 

“Slag,” Sentinel, Smokescreen, and Rodimus breathed - although Rodimus’ was a bit garbled around the servo over his mouth. Longarm swallowed his chips and gestured at Optimus. He rolled his optics but pulled up and out of Sentinel’s arms and went under it himself, his back scraping against the floor.

 

“I don’t see any of you gasping for him,” Longarm said and retracted his arm. Optimus waved his arms dramatically, foux annoyed at their lack of support.

 

“I’m always gasping for Optimus,” Smokescreen said with a saucy wink in Optimus’ direction. Half the group started yelling and jumped on him. Optimus couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

 

“He has a fiance you gelatinous multi limbed processor-less aquatic organic organism!” Sentinel yelled.

 

“What in Unicron’s name -” Smokescreen yelped and Elita snorted. Optimus grabbed a little box of rust sticks and fought to open it. Why did Rodimus tape this shut? (Was it Rodimus? Or Ultra Magnus with his fear of mess?)

 

“Oh, so we’re invoking Unicron now are we?” Longarm said, seemingly relieved the attention was off his alleged crush. “I’m surprised you even know who that is.” Optimus giggled around a rust stick, savoring the taste of it.

 

“Yes because  _ what the frag _ -”

 

“Have you never heard of a jellyfish?” Sentinel said, loud and outraged. Smokescreen’s optics went wider than Optimus thought possible. He popped another rust stick in his mouth as Smokescreen shoved Longarm and Rodimus off of him.

 

“Now you’re just making slag up, you slagger!” Smokescreen shrieked. Elita leaned back against Optimus as Sentinel jumped on Smokescreen and the two rolled out of the nest. 

 

“You never told us who’s escorting Optimus?” She said. Rodimus looked over from where he was yelling for Smokescreen to beat Sentinel’s aft, optics wide. He settled back, the serious tang to his and Elita’s EM Fields bringing down the atmosphere.

 

“Here,” Rodimus said and pulled a datapad out of subspace. Optimus took it and turned it on. He projected the contents into the air. Longarm, Sentinel, and Smokescreen clambered back into the nest.

 

There were three bots assigned to him. A medic named Ratchet, a farmer-turned-civil-engineer named Bulkhead, and a speedster named Bumblebee. Just the three of them. Optimus frowned and clicked the Read More buttons on their files.

 

Ratchet was a field medic, specialized in trauma  _ and  _ processor damage, older than the war with Kaon and Tarn, older than the war against Vos and Praxus before that, older than Ultra Magnus, but still far younger than Kup Minor. He hadn’t seen a battlefield in years, but was bonded to Teaching Unit RC-687-040. 

 

Bulkhead was about as old as Longarm, as was Bumblebee, and they were both in his Elite Guard training unit. Both had been discharged dishonorably. While Bulkhead had studied engineering (he was going to be a space bridge engineer before he was discharged), Bumblebee had become a deliverymech.

 

All in all, not too encouraging.

 

“Carrier says he picked them personally,” Rodimus said, unhappy, “but somehow I doubt it. If anything happens to you in Kaon, there’s no way they can protect you.” Optimus shoved another rust stick in his mouth so he wouldn’t have to answer.

 

“Bumblebee is more likely to invite trouble, if anything,” Longarm said, “at least, he was that way when I knew him. Bulkhead might keep him in line, they were always close.” Smokescreen crawled over to slump against Optimus’ other side. He was a speedster, small and compact and he fit perfectly under Optimus’ arm.

 

“That’s it,” Sentinel said, large arms crossed over his chest plates, “your carrier and I are going to have to fight.”

 

“You could never win,” Optimus said lightly. Elita tightened her grip on his servo. Sentinel glared at him.

 

“Are you on my side or what?” He asked. “We’re fighting Ultra Magnus, all of us. Let’s go, I call the washracks first.” Smokescreen turned off the datapad’s projection as Optimus tilted his head in confusion.

 

“Why do we have to go to the washracks to fight Magnus?” Elita asked. Sentinel shifted into a flabbergasted expression, made all the more comical by his chin. Optimus smiled weakly.

 

“So we can put on our warpaint, duh,” Sentinel said. Smokescreen pointed at him.

 

“Who needs warpaint when you’ve got a chin like that?”

 

Sentinel spluttered and launched himself at Smokescreen,  _ again _ , only to collide with Optimus and Elita as well. Optimus yelped. Sentinel switched targets, fingers aiming for Optimus’ seams. Elita and Smokescreen held Optimus down, Longarm cheering from the side while Rodimus jumped up to act as commentator.

 

Surrounded by his closest friends, with the bonding ceremony a week away, it was easier to forget the immense responsibility he was handed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! I know I was gonna post tomorrow, but I got too excited so. . . updating today!
> 
> don't forget to leave a kudos and comment! :D


	3. Chapter 3

The mines were as Megatron left them, dirty and loud and filled to the brim. There was a steady flow of incoming and outgoing traffic, big mechs and femmes pushing or pulling covered carts. Megatron bypassed the stream completely and headed into the mine. The miners he was looking for wouldn’t be anywhere near the surface.

 

Megatron had switched out his battle grade armor for his old mining armor, cleared for up to 20 kilometers below the surface. He had long since upgraded from a tunneler frame - the lack of flexibility did him no favors in the Pits of Kaon - but the armor still fit for the most part. So no one really looked twice at the large miner making his way to the bottom of the mine.

 

He still intimately understood the shaking of the ground beneath him, the distant screams as some section of the mine collapsed. But now Megatron didn’t have to build up a wall in front of his spark as he used to do as a miner. He’d already become accustomed to pain and death through the Pits, through the wars.

 

The farther down one went into the mines, the darker it got. So far down, visual sensors were no longer the relied on method of navigation. After about 5 kilometers, mechs started relying more on audio and tactile input. Megatron had kept his original head (although he did get a different helmet) so he would continue to be able to travel down to the mines without suffering from substandard audio input. Tactile input was tactile input was tactile input. There wasn’t much difference there.

 

Megatron went down and down and down and down until -

 

“Megatron?”

 

He grinned and stepped off the elevator he took on the way down. It continued for a couple more kilometers. There the path switched to a manually cranked platform that was just a pain to use. Megatron was lucky. Those who worked further down had never, and would never, see the sky. Now that he was a flight frame, used to the weightlessness of flight and sensitive to the shifting of the air, he knew he would go insane stuck down there.

 

There was no denying the simplicity of mining over running two city-states, however. Megatron still dreamed of the stillness, the endless black and soft shine of precious metals and energon like stars buried in the ground. 

 

Megatron walked forwards to claim hugs from the miners who worked in the perpetual dark. 17.5 Kilometers down, too deep to come up regularly, too deep to get very many visitors, too deep to follow the mannerisms of those on the surface. 

 

“My brothers,” Megatron murmured. This far down, mechs were born into the job. Instead of names, most had a phrase or two from ancient texts no one up top cared to remember. Megatron himself had only gained his current name after about a year duking it out in the Pits of Kaon. He came up with it himself.

 

“What news from the surface?” The nearest set of bright red optics asked. Megatron reached out and they caught his servos in theirs.  _ He Was To Protect And Serve _ , the mech introduced through their entwined fingers. Megatron signed back his own name, his original name.

 

“The war is over,” Megatron said, the news accompanied with sighs of relief from the gathered mechs, “we’re dropping production, your quotas are going down. I’ll see what I can do about raising the energon we pay you.”

 

“Thank you, Primus bless you,” He Was To Protect And Serve said, “May Solomus guide you and Adaptus sooth the changes in your path.” Megatron leaned his head forwards to rest it on the mech’s shoulder, his EM Field fluttering with his thankfulness.

 

“May Epistemus teach you true and Mortilus take you in your time,” Megatron returned. He Was To Protect And Serve pressed closer, smiled against Megatron’s cheek, before he pulled back to stand among the rest.

 

“Anything more?” He asked. Megatron hesitated before he gave his next piece of news.

 

“I am to be bonded,” Megatron said. He Was To Protect And Serve gasped, the other miners joining in with a short round of applause and encouragement. “And I finally have the beginnings of a plan to wipe Megazarak from this planet, although I have no one to enact it.” The miners fell silent for a couple seconds before they stepped closer, reaching to touch.

 

“Careful,” He Was To Protect And Serve murmured, “even the mines have audio sensors.” Megatron nodded. That was the whole point of announcing it.  _ Someone _ would volunteer to be his assassin, sooner or later. “But I’m happy for you. A bonding is no small thing. How is your bonded?”

 

“He’s not Kaonite or Tarnian, is the first thing,” Megatron said. There were a few chuckles from the miners. One stepped forward and grabbed one of Megatron’s servos to introduce herself as  _ Softly Spoken But Strongly Said _ .

 

“That’s not such a bad thing,” she said, “just means you’re going to have to teach him a few things.” Megatron cupped the back of her head to press his smile to her faceplates. She returned the gesture.

 

“I agree,” Megatron said, “but he might know much already. He’s a warrior, a leader, but he goes about himself as a scholar. He can hold his own in a battle against me,” the miners cooed in interest, “and has done so repeatedly. He’s Iaconian but he respects our culture.”

 

“You mean Kaonite culture,” someone muttered and was shushed harshly. Megatron’s optics found the speaker - one optic was shattered awkwardly, the other overbright to compensate. “You’re Tarnian, not Kaonite. You unfurled down here with the rest of us. You’re a miner - not a gladiator, not a flight frame, not a Kaonite. You’re one of  _ us _ .”

 

“And that’s why I come down here,” Megatron said and shouldered his way through the mechs and reached for the speaker. They took his servos after a second.

 

_ Our Journey To The Stars Is Everlasting _ . A weighty name for a broken mech.

 

“I am one of you,” Megatron said, “I have become part of Kaon too. And now, with this bonding, I will become part of Iacon as well. But I will always be one of you.” 

 

Our Journey To The Stars Is Everlasting stared at him for a couple seconds, before nodding. He leaned forwards to drop his head on Megatron’s shoulder. Megatron cupped the back of his head, and held him as he shook.

 

“Better?” Megatron asked when Our Journey To The Stars Is Everlasting stepped back.

 

Our Journey To The Stars Is Everlasting sighed and said, “for now.” Megatron frowned at him, worried, but turned back to the miners. They hadn’t dispersed yet, most likely too entranced by the possibility of more gossip.

 

“I wanted to know if any of you had any advice for me?” Megatron asked. “I’ve obviously never been bonded before.” The miners murmured to themselves, before a distinct answer emerged from the crowd in the shape of a tunneler, named The Glow Of A Spark Was Not Uncommon.

 

“Try to understand him,” he said, “even if he’s not making sense. Being bonded. . . it won’t be easy just because he makes you want to tow back Luna 1 for him. You need to treat him well, and try to understand. That’s the biggest advise I think I can give, may Solomus prove it true.”

 

\---

 

“Oh, no thank you,” Optimus said to the artist reaching to paint over his scars. She gave him a weird look and Optimus shrugged. “I. . . I’d feel more comfortable leaving them uncovered.”

 

“Weird flex,” the artist said slowly, “but ok.”

 

She backed away to grab a different can of paint, this one a blue that matched Optimus’ helmet, then returned. Optimus locked his limbs in place to resist squirming as she sprayed on yet another layer of paint. He was a warrior, he was built to move, not hold still while he was made pretty for television.

 

Elita walked over, typing away at the datapad in her servos. “Optimus, do you know anything about interior decorating?” Optimus stared at her with wide optics. She smiled at him and shook her head. “I’ll take that as a no. Don’t worry, I’ll handle everything.”

 

“I feel bad for letting you do everything,” Optimus said quietly. Elita rolled her optics and selected something on the datapad. The artist finished up with one finial and walked around to his other side. Elita shifted over to compensate.

 

“I’d rather I organize this trainwreck of a wedding than you,” Elita said, “at least I have some understanding of societal norms. You’ve been out playing warlord for too long to understand something as benign as  _ jewelry _ or  _ seating charts _ .” Optimus snorted and the artist let out an annoyed hissed.

 

“Sorry,” Optimus said and the artist waved off the apology. Rodimus wandered over from wherever he had been hanging around. His paint job glistened in the harsh lighting. The flame decal on his chest looked a little more real than it had before. He was optic catching. Optimus was proud he was able to call such a handsome mech his brother.

 

“Ready?” Rodimus asked, practically bouncing in excitement. Optimus couldn’t understand it. “I’ve just spoken to the interviewer - he understands what he’s allowed to ask and not ask, we’re just waiting on you. How long ‘till he’s done?” He addressed the artist. She raised an optic ridge at him, but she was smiling.

 

“I can be done right now, if you want me to,” she said. Rodimus beamed at her.

 

“Great! Let’s do that,” Rodimus said and grabbed Optimus’ servos. Rodimus tugged him up and flung an arm around his shoulders. “That looks like it’s pretty much dry. Right? It’s fine, I doubt anyone would notice a slightly wet looking audial. Especially not on you.” Optimus gave him a suspicious look and Rodimus threw up his servos with an exasperation ex vent. “I’m trying to cheer you up! Make you more comfortable! Haven’t you ever heard of comfort, O brother of mine?”

 

“I haven’t actually,” Optimus said dryly. Rodimus gave him an absolutely disgusted look but didn’t say anything. 

 

Instead he lead Optimus out of the room and onto the studio they were going to use. There wasn’t much to the set inside - it was simply a room with a comfortable couch in the center. Behind it was a layered backdrop. The idea was to make the background look more natural, but it was giving Optimus the creeps.

 

There were lights everywhere, and four or five cameras. Behind them were chairs, most of which were occupied with brightly colored mechs and femmes. Optimus eyed them as Rodimus lead him to the couch. Most of the lights were on, turned up to a blistering level. It was cold in the studio too.

 

A couple days in Iacon weren’t about to undo over seventy years of combat training and experience. Even with that reassurance, the studio was a nightmare.

 

Optimus would really rather not sit in the middle of this room, half blinded by countless lights and far from his weapons. For what it was worth, he tried to focus more on Rodimus than the bustle of mecha around the studio. Rodimus, a literally shining beacon in the dark. Optimus hoped he didn’t shine that bright.

 

The interviewer slipped up to them as they sat down. Slimey, obviously a civilian, Mic was not the type of bot Optimus was used to dealing with. He wanted to return to the nest he and his officers had left assembled in the center of their shared quarters. It was much better than this.

 

“Hello, hello,” Mic said and saluted, “it’s an honor to see you, Optimus Prime, sir, as usual. How goes everything? Are you ready for your bonding ceremony?”

 

“Let’s save that for the actual interview, shall we?” Optimus said with an uneasy smile. Mic nodded and hurried to stand to the front and left of the couch.

 

“You’re right, sir, of course,” Mic said, “let’s see if we can’t get this show on the road. You’re going to be fine, sir, just make sure you relax. It’s not like you’re going out to fight!” 

 

Optimus laughed and leaned over to whisper in his brother’s audio receptor. “It feels like I’m going to war.”

 

“You’ll get used to it,” was Rodimus’ answer. Optimus sent him a wounded look as the stage descended into the dark. Optimus automatically reached for Rodimus. “Relax. This is the intro.”

 

“Goooood morning, my precious viewers!” Mic started, loud and chipper. He bowed, overdramatic and full of smiles. Optimus was going to purge his tanks. “Welcome back welcome back, it’s a blessing and a joy to see you all again! Today we’ve got two special, special guests. Can you guess who the are?” He bent slightly at the waist and cupped an audio receptor with one tacky yellow servo.

 

“That’s right!” He said after a couple seconds, wide smile fixed firmly in place. “My guests are Rodimus and Optimus Prime!” He swept to the side, servos flailing in an attempt to reveal Optimus and Rodimus in a dramatic manner. Optimus didn’t want to tell him he was failing at it. Mic bounced over and plopped himself on the couch handle on Rodimus’ side. “Rodimus! My main mech!”

 

“Hey, Mic,” Rodimus said, his own smile on display, “fancy seeing you here.” Mic flailed at him.

 

“Fancy indeed,” he said and leaned over in a not-so-subtle change of topics. “Hello, sir! I see you’re back from saving our beloved city-state.”

 

“I’ve been back for a bit, Mic,” Optimus said, his voice coming out a little weaker than he expected it to. Was he so nervous? He really couldn’t see anything past the glare of the many, many lights. “You were there at my speech yesterday.”

 

“Your speech! Did you really mean it? Are you really getting bonded to Megatron?” Mic said, overeager. Optimus nodded. “But isn’t he a little. . . ?” Optimus blinked at him.

 

“I’m not so sure what you want me to say to that?” Optimus said. Mic opened his mouth, presumably to clarify, but Optimus decided he wouldn’t give the reporter the chance. Anything to get out from under the lights. “Megatron is a good mech, Mic. I know you’ve always seen him as some monster on the horizon, but I’ve been fighting and talking to him for years.”

 

“He’s still the enemy,” Mic started and Optimus shook his head.

 

“He’s our ally,” Optimus said firmly, “and in a couple days, he will be my bonded.” Mic shook his head slowly, some strange look on his face plates. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and a little fluttery.

 

“Doesn’t it bother you?” He asked. “This is a big sacrifice. Even if you already knew and trusted him, you’re giving up your entire life to be his bonded.” Optimus reset his visual feed and glanced over at Rodimus. Rodimus smiled encouragingly. Optimus scraped together what little processing power he had left and came up with something the people would like.

 

“Iacon is my home,” Optimus said, as gentle as he could manage, “I live here. I grew up here. My family lives here. Maybe I don’t know her people as well as Rodimus does, and maybe I’ll never be able to navigate her streets like you might, but she is still my home. There is nothing I wouldn’t give to keep her safe and happy.” Mic nodded, slow, looking charmed. “And - and that’s besides the point - I don’t consider bonding to Megatron a - a sacrifice. 

 

“I’m not giving up my life to bond with him. I am giving him a part of my life, and he is giving me a part of his. This isn’t going to be me making - concession after concession after concession to keep him comfortable. This is going to be the both of us working together and communicating and compromising. It’s nothing as dangerous as you’re thinking. It’s a relationship. That’s all there is to that.”

 

Mic nodded slowly. Rodimus let out a slow whistle.

 

“When did you grow a neurotransmitter,” Rodimus said, “I could have sworn you gave your last one to me.” Optimus glared at him. Rodimus glared right back.

 

“I gave my last one to Elita so she could help me plan my ceremony, you don’t get any of my neurotransmitters,” Optimus said. Rodimus leaned forwards, something else on the tip of his tongue.

 

“Speaking of Elita One,” Mic said, “I have a couple rumors to clear up.” Optimus sighed and slumped back just a bit. Mic laughed like it was hilarious. “It’s not so bad, my Prime! Rumors never hurt anyone.”

 

Optimus had several choice things to say to that, starting with ‘rumor-mongering is a punishable offense under Iaconian martial law,’ but Rodimus was already talking.

 

“Let’s hear it,” Rodimus said, bouncing in his seat, “I love me some juicy gossip.” Mic looked absolutely delighted. He leaned forwards, his body language mirroring Rodimus’.

 

“It’s about the Primes,” Mic said and something in Optimus sunk in dread, “there are rumors going around about our elite squad of officers, lead by Optimus Prime himself. See - most of you are young. Which is already different and strange in comparison to Praxus 0r - or Kaon, for example. Most of you were warforged. There are rumors that,  _ you know _ .” He paused here with a significant look on his face. Optimus didn’t get it, but Rodimus certainly did.

 

“There are rumors we interfaced to the top?” Rodimus gasped. Mic slumped and waved his servos.

 

“See, I wasn’t going to say it,” Mic said, sighing with what seemed like regret, “but that’s about the size of it.” Rodimus shook his head, looking disappointed.

 

“The only reason we’ve achieved the rank of Prime,” Rodimus said, “and when I say only I mean  _ only _ , is because we’ve worked for it.” Mic nodded and turned to Optimus. Rodimus threw up his servos. “Oh, you only wanted to ask Optimus! You don’t care what I think!”

 

“That’s not it, I assure you,” Mic said, but he was laughing. Optimus didn’t know what to think. He was still trying to process that there was someone out there who really thought Longarm - Longarm! Who hated interfacing! Even with computers! - had interfaced someone to get his position as Prime of Intelligence. Or that Smokescreen - “ _ I’ll only interface for love!” _ \- had done so.

 

“I’m not going to lie,” Optimus said slowly, “the idea’s a little ridiculous to me.”

 

“Is it?” Mic said. “Mechs have said they function less as military leaders, and more like a personal squad for you. Or that they have no skill in battle - they’ve never proven it.”

 

“Then those mechs must be the ones who never enlisted,” Optimus said, shaking his head. “Anyone who fought beside me and the other Primes will tell you otherwise. They’re the best of the best, and it’s not because of who they’ve interfaced.”

 

“You’re so open about interfacing,” Mic said after a second, but now his optics glinted with something else, “but are you so open about your past? Have you told Megatron about what happened during your first battle?”

 

Optimus’ engine stalled out.

 

“I specifically told you, not ten minutes ago -” Rodimus started, loud and angry. Mic spread his servos. Optimus stared at him. His spark was pulsing too fast.

 

“I’m not asking him about what happened,” Mic said. Optimus’ couldn’t focus. “I’m asking him if he’s talked about it.”

 

“That’s not your business,” Rodimus yelled, “that isn’t the business of anyone else on Cybertron! That’s for Optimus to know and decide what to do with.” He turned to the camerabots. “That’s enough for today, thank you for your time. I’m sorry but I’m sure you can salvage something usable from the footage you’ve already got. Optimus and I won’t be taking any more questions.”

 

Rodimus grabbed Optimus’ arm. He pulled him up. Optimus clutched to his servo. Elita was at their sides within seconds. 

 

“Let’s cut their funding,” Elita said, hazy and far away, “they can’t function without the government’s support. How fragging dare he -”

 

“That’s an abuse of power and you know it.”

 

“But -”

 

“I know. But I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”

 

\--

 

“My lord -” Strika started. Megatron held up a servo and she paused.    
  


“Don’t call me that where others can hear,” Megatron said, thinking of the warning He Was To Protect And Serve gave him, “even my hab.suite has audio sensors.” Strika sighed and shook her head.

  
“I wish you would allow me to call you that more,” she said, “it gives me a special sort of satisfaction.” Megatron couldn’t hold back a smile as his oldest friend beamed at him. Srika wasn’t prone to displays of affection - 0r displays of  _ anything  _ if you weren’t the love of her life.

 

Still, she looked absolutely at home in the mess of Megatron’s hab.suite. Lugnut lay on Megatron’s berth, passed the frag out. Strika and Megatron both tended to be light drinkers, some part of them still two scared miners running short on energon. Megatron enjoyed her company, when he could have it. She looked ten times more comfortable in his hab.suite than he himself did.

 

“Megatron,” Strika said and leaned back in the chair she sat in. Megatron stood back against the wall on the other side of the room. “Finally getting bonded. Although I wish it wasn’t an Iaconian sparkling.”

 

“He’s not a sparkling,” Megatron said, “he’s been around for centuries. ” Strika shook her head.

 

“Around for centuries, and yet all he’s experienced are his carrier’s disapproval and war,” Strika said. Megatron frowned as she took another slow sip of her high grade. “That makes him a sparkling to me. We’re around too long to really have a measure of age, I think. It’s with experience that the power imbalance will come.” She wasn’t wrong, Megatron supposed.

 

“The deal’s already been made,” Megatron murmured into his mug, “there’s no backing out now.” Strika sighed and shook her head. She heaved herself out of her chair and walked over to Megatron. She took his mug and placed it on his table. Megatron watched her move about his room, a little confused. Strika came back and pulled him into her arms.

 

“You should have thought of these things beforehand,” Strika scolded, “you’re a fool.” Megatron snorted, but let her guide his head down onto her shoulder. “But  _ you’re  _ a sparkling too. You don’t have much experience either - just the dark of the mines and then fighting for your life. You’re barely proficient at running city-states.”

 

“I can’t believe you’ve stuck with me this long because you thought I was a kid,” Megatron mumbled against her shoulder. Strika laughed.

 

“I stuck with you this long because Lugnut thinks you’re All That And A Rust Stick,” she said, “he’d blow a gasket if I tried leaving you.” Megatron grinned and pulled back to find her smiling as well. 

 

“He really would blow a gasket,” Megatron said, with a glance over at the berth. Strika followed his gaze, expression morphing into something soft. She wandered over to him. “You two are good together.” She snorted.

 

“Say you want advice and go,” she said, “I’m no foreign dignitary to dance around.”

 

“And thank frag for that,” Megatron said, and headed over to steal the seat she previously occupied. “Please impart your ever so valuable advice on me.” Strika leaned back against the berth, staring at her bonded.

 

“First would be to clean out your pit-forsaken room,” Strika said loudly and Lugnut snapped awake. He relaxed completely when he saw Strika. He slumped back against the berth. “Optimus, was it? He won’t like this mess if he was raised military.”

 

“I was raised military, and I like the mess,” Lugnut said, already falling back into recharge. “Issa good mess.”

 

“You’re head over heels for Megs, of course you like his mess,” Strika said with a laugh, “but the mess is first to go. Get a bigger berth, he won’t be comfortable with you for a while, be prepared to offer it to him while you go sleep in your office. What else? Clear him out a drawer or - better yet, just give him your whole table for his things. Keep your work to your office.”

 

“So a lot of reorganizing,” Megatron summarized. Strika looked unimpressed. She waved around the room and Megatron took it as a cue. He put his mug back down with a sigh. “This is gonna get messy. . .”

 

“Good,” Strika said, “you’re a lazy asshole and needed to clean anyway. I’m ordering you another berth.” Megatron watched as she pulled a datapad out of subspace and started clicking away.

 

Megatron tackled his table first. It was covered in datapads, almost all of them build up from the massive changes the economy was going through. Megatron piled them into a corner of the desk and ended up with a pile tall enough to stretch from his waist to his chin. That was going to be a pain to move. 

 

The desk drawers were and had always been empty. Megatron had never gotten around to using them, which worked out. Optimus was small enough that some of his armor would be able to fit in the deeper drawers. His datapads and other personal effects would fit in the smaller ones.

 

The floor of Megatron’s room was, for the most part, uncluttered. There were growing piles of datapads and a couple of Megatron’s bigger pieces of armor scattered about the table. Megatron’s miner grade armor made up a heap under the berth - still lined with dirt and traces of unrefined energon, Megatron had been too tired after his return to put them all away.

 

“Would you look at that,” Strika said, “express delivery. It’ll be here in a couple minutes. Lugnut!” The giant idiot’s largest optic blinked open. “Up, sweetie, we’re going and taking Megatron’s berth with us.”

 

“It’s not big enough for us,” Lugnut said. Strika nodded as Lugnut heaved himself up. He slid off the berth with the horrible screech of metal. Megatron watched with his spark sinking as one of his few comforts was literally ripped out of the ground. “My lord Megatron -”

 

“I’m not your lord,” Megatron said, sighing, “just go and spare me your grovelling.” Lugnut nodded and turned to waddle past Strika. She watched him carry the berth with a satisfied expression. Megatron turned away in anguish when she literally  _ slapped Lugnut’s aft _ . “I’m going to purge.”

 

“I’ll be back in a minute with your new berth,” Strika said, ignoring him, “and then we’re talking about that pit destined plan of yours.” Megatron waved her off. The door shut behind her. Megatron sighed, looking around at years of accumulated dust and dirt and grime.

 

Strika was right. Optimus would hate this.

 

\--

 

“Is he awake?”

 

“No,” Optimus mumbled against Longarm’s chest. There was a sigh, then a small servo pressed against the back of his helm. Optimus pushed back against it, just a bit. It stroked down along his helm.

 

“Why is your helmet still on?” Smokescreen asked. Optimus shrugged. “Elita said you had a processor ache. You should take it off.” Optimus shrugged again.

 

“We have to do everything around here,” Longarm said, but he didn’t sound too bothered. He shifted so Optimus was sitting upright. Optimus’ processor sent out another long pulse of pain. The helmet was lifted and then - the cold of Smokescreen’s servo against his exposed head. “Better?”

 

“Yeah,” Optimus said. His friends spoke in low tones and Optimus couldn’t thank them enough for that, and for keeping the lights in their shared quarters off. Longarm had pulled him down into their blanket and pillow nest as soon as Rodimus and Elita brought him back. Optimus hadn’t moved since. “Dunno what I’d do without you guys.”

 

Longarm sighed. “I wish you never had to find out.” Smokescreen hummed in agreement. Optimus sniffled and tightened his grip on Longarm. “It’s going to be fine, Optimus, I promise.”

 

“Ok,” Optimus said, voice shaking. There was the shifting of metal and then - Smokescreen carefully pulled Optimus from Longarm. Optimus tried to ignore the growing pain and went limp in their arms.

 

“Frag,” Smokescreen cursed, “you’re slagging  _ heavy _ you -” he continued on cursing, but softly. Optimus focused on it as best he could. Longarm patted Optimus’ shoulder and stood.

 

“Jazz has been comm.ing me for the last hour at least,” Longarm explained. Optimus frowned, upset. “No, it’s fine Optimus. I’d gladly skip work for you.”

 

“Mic said,” Optimus said, face hidden in Smokescreen’s chest, “Mic said there were rumors you guys are a - a support team. For me. There are rumors you guys aren’t the warriors you are - they say you interfaced -”

 

“Optimus,” Longarm interrupted, “you know those rumors aren’t true. And even if they were - I’d rather be the mech who slept his way to your side than the mech who slept his way to Magnus.” As touching as that statement was, the second half - about Ultra Magnus - Optimus raised his head - it hurt, so he couldn’t raise it that far, but far enough so he could see the glow of Longarm’s biolights. “Mechs make rumors about Magnus too. Thing is - they’re not true. You know they’re not true. So you shouldn’t let them bother you.”

 

“They’re about you though.” Optimus lowered his head again. “I can’t let them be about you.”

 

“Ohh,” Smokescreen sighed, “ _ slag _ , Optimus, you’re too sweet to us. If you want, I could have Roddy put out a mandate or something - anyone caught perpetuating rumors will be arrested or fined.”

 

“That’d be like saying that you  _ did  _ sleep your way to the top!” Optimus said, distraught. His processor ache immediately responded to his exclamation with a stab of pain and he whimpered. Smokescreen pulled him closer.

 

“We’ll figure out the rumors, ok?” He said. “Not now, though. Right now you need to get some slagging recharge.” Optimus caught a hold of Smokescreen’s servo and squeezed.

 

“What if they air that whole - the part when I - are they going to air it?” Optimus whispered. He hadn’t been able to ask Longarm. Longarm would suggested taking the show off air or blacklisting it or something along those lines. He was insanely good at his job and that made him a  _ little  _ too willing to do that job. “The war’s over. My various weaknesses aren’t a matter of national security anymore.”

 

“We have a written agreement with the crankshafts,” Smokescreen said, “we’ll sue if they try to. The damage will be done, but at least we’d be able to get the vid taken down on all official sites.” Optimus nodded. “Everything’s going to fine, Optimus. Longarm promised! He never promises  _ me  _ slag.” Optimus smiled, small and shaky, but there.

 

“That’s cuz your irresponsible,” Optimus said, “and he’s the one that has to read all our psych evals. He knows how much of an aft you are.” Smokescreen gasped, quiet and dramatic.

 

“You’re the absolute worst commanding officer a simple dumbaft like me could have,” he said and Optimus snorted. 

 

It brought a throb of pain, but Smokescreen’s constant cursing made it feel less intense. Longarm’s solid strength made sure Optimus could cry and cry into his shoulder, and he wouldn’t say anything, but Smokescreen was really bad at carrying other’s pain. He would keep Optimus happy with jokes and long strings of obscure curse words. 

 

Optimus just hoped it would be enough to outlast the processor ache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate daylight savings
> 
> Don't forget to leave a comment! I've been having a hard week and all your comments really cheer me up and give me the strength to write more!!! I really appreciate it!!!!


	4. Chapter 4

“So,” Strika said, “that assassination of yours.” Megatron sighed.

 

She sat on the new berth, watching as Megatron worked away at floor with a mop and sudsy bucket. Lugnut was at her side, swinging his feet and periodically injecting with an offer to help Megatron clean. Strika turned them down for him.

 

“The one against Magnus?” Megatron said. Strika narrowed her optics at him then nudged Lugnut. Lugnut startled, then his optics dimmed as he focused on something on his HUD. Some catchy pop song started blaring from his external speakers. Megatron sent Strika a longsuffering look.

 

“The other one,” Strika said, “there’s rumors in Tarn that say you’ve got something. Apparently it came from the mines, and I know you went back yesterday.”

 

“That’s pretty fast,” Megatron said. Strika groaned and threw up her servos.

 

“Don’t avoid the topic,” she said, “you know as well as I do that you don’t have a plan.” Megatron frowned and she held up a finger. Megatron rolled his optics and went back to scrubbing. “You’re being immature. You can’t advertise a plan you haven’t thought up yet? I expect better of you. You’re our Second and the moment Megazarak’s gone -”

 

“Lord,” Megatron interrupted, “Lord Megazarak. Call him by his title.” Strika crossed her arms over the vents on her chest.

 

“Why should I? Neither of us respect him,” she said.

 

“If we stop calling him by it, we’ll fall out of the habit, and next thing you know we’ll be calling him Megazarak to his face,” Megatron said, “I’ve come too far to let such a thing trip me up.” Strika shook her head, but only leaned against Lugnut. His faceplates twisted in his version of a smile, his biolights glittering.

 

“So what is this plan of yours?” Strika asked. Megatron examined the wet floor. It didn’t look like he’d missed any spots.

 

“I wanted something simple like shoot him in his sleep,” Megatron said and carried the mop and bucket over to the washrack door. “But he just installed those acoustics. Any noise in there echoes to the pit and back - the door will open and he’ll be on high alert. So I’m thinking, public event?”

 

“It’ll be easier to shoot from a crowd but easier to misfire,” Strika said, “and it’s standard to keep the surrounding roofs and buildings with high windows clear, so no snipers on roofs or upper levels.” Megatron poured out the bucket into the drain and refilled it. This time, he filled it with soap that wouldn’t peel the paint off the dented walls.

 

“Right,” Megatron said as he walked back in. He walked to the front of the room, the wall with the door, and pushed the table away from it - he watched the three (3) stacks of datapads he’d collected from around his hab.suite to make sure they didn’t fall and make another mess. He wet his mop in the bucket and started scrubbing away grime and congealed energon from the walls. “So, the next thing I thought of? The bonding ceremony.”

 

“Remind me again how that might work?” Strika said with a sigh. “It’s a bonding ceremony, Megatron.” Megatron turned to grin at her.

 

“It’s not just a bonding ceremony,” he said, “it’s a Kaonite bonding ceremony.” She reset her optics.

 

“I don’t get it,” she said. Megatron put his mop back on the floor, scowling. He leaned on the handle. 

 

“Kaonite bonding ceremonies include gladiatorial combat between the suitor and their carrier-in-law,” Megatron said, “something about how the suitor should be strong enough to protect their intended.” Strika looked thoroughly unimpressed.

  
“I like  _ our  _ ceremonies more,” she decided, “just you, your intended, and the stars.”

 

“And the fifty miners you’re closest with taking the day off to drink your intended under the table,” Megatron added and Lugnut laughed. Strika glared up at Megatron.

 

“That was one time!” She complained as Lugnut pulled her close and mushed his forehead against hers. “ _ I _ normally drink  _ them  _ under the table.”

 

“Of course you do, my love,” Lugnut said, “you’re the best drinker I know and can hold your high grade even better than our Megatron can.”

 

“You’re damned right I can,” Strika said with a nod. A little struggle, a little shifting, and Strika was perched on Lugnut’s lap. “That’s better.” Lugnut relaxed against the wall, biolights and EM Field pulsing with his delight. “So the gladiatorial match. Tell me more.”

 

“From what I can tell, Optimus will be fighting Lord Megazarak,” Megatron said, “We can’t risk another war by having me fight Ultra Magnus, especially since the Iaconians don’t have anything along such lines.”

 

“Neither does Tarn,” Strika said with a sniff. Megatron nodded. “Tell me again why Kaon has such a cultural fixation on fighting?”

 

“I don’t know,” Megatron said, “but I’m sure Optimus could tell you. He’s a bit of a history buff, from what I understand. I’m sure he could tell you everything there is to know about the history of ever city-state on this continent.”

 

“Look at you,” Strika said, “not even bonded and already singing his praises.” Megatron nodded.

 

“It’s always a good idea to praise your bonded, if you and Lugnut have taught me anything,” Megatron said. Strika looked like she was about to say something, but Lugnut beat her to the punch.

 

“It’s only natural to praise your bonded,” Lugnut said and Megatron knew he was about to start on a tangent about his beloved Strika. He turned back to the wall he was washing. “Especially when your bonded is big and strong and therefore the most beautiful femme in all of Cybertron and the smartest mech in Kaon, so smart she can command the Kaonite and Tarnian armies while keeping the peace of not one but  _ two _ city-states and -”

 

“Thank you, Love,” Strika said lightly, “but now isn’t the time.”

 

“Of course! Anything to please you,” Lugnut said. Strika nuzzled her faceplates against Lugnut’s. “I’ll tell you when we get home.”

 

“Yes please,” she said. Lugnut just about melted into Megatron’s berth. Megatron still wasn’t sure if she liked hearing someone boast about her or if the praise was a glitch on Lugnut’s part that no one had ever bothered to indulge. “I feel like Optimus killing Lord Megazarak in gladiatorial combat is the worst idea you’ve ever come up with.” Megatron nodded.

 

“It’s a terrible idea,” Megatron agreed, “what’s a better idea is to get Lord Megazarak while he’s in the hospital.” Strika thought over that for a couple minutes while Megatron finished with the wall he was working on.

 

“That’s not bad,” Strika said, “but we’d have to tamper with the cameras, there’s gonna be guards at our Lord’s doors, the assassin is going to have to find a way to sneak in a weapon in the first place - the issues go on.” Megatron nodded slowly and pushed the table and chair back in place, stacks of datapads wobbling threateningly.

 

“The closest hospital to the ceremonial hall is surrounded by tall buildings,” Megatron said, “it woudn’t be too much trouble to put a bullet through the windows of Lord Megazarak’s room.” Strika hesitated.

  
“I’m not too sure that’ll work,” she said. Megatron sighed.

 

“I’m not too sure of anything,” he said, “but I’ve gotta take all the chances I get before he does something I can’t undo.”

 

\--

 

Optimus stared around the hall set aside for the bonding ceremony. It was absolutely  _ ginormous _ . He was alone, the rest of the officers off busy with something or other. Optimus didn’t blame them - if he could have something to work on, that would be great. But the war was over and he didn’t, so he surveyed the hall he would be bonded in.

 

The hall itself was empty as well. It was late and most people working tirelessly to set up for the ceremony had already returned home for the day. It was originally a temple of some sort, some place of worship. The many wars had leached away Iacon’s cultural resources and religion had taken the brunt of the damage. The only reason Optimus knew about religion - and when he said only he meant  _ only _ \- was because of the sheer amount of history textbooks he’d read.

 

And even then, he didn’t know much.

 

The curved rafters were carved with something in an ancient language Optimus didn’t recognize. There were little paint chips, from what Optimus could see, faint reds and blues and whites. Whatever it said must have been lost for - millions of years, probably. The academic in Optimus hoped it was something religious.

 

Would Megatron know anything about religion? About the history of Kaon and Tarn? Maybe a little about Iacon as well? The thought put a giddy smile on Optimus’ faceplates.

 

He fumbled with his subspace and pulled out a camera. He took a bunch of pictures, smiling to himself. He was going to search the symbols and see if he couldn't find the language. If it was still readable. . . maybe Optimus could transcribe what they said?

 

The very front of the hall had a stage, backlit by massive stained-glass windows. The years had dulled the colors, but Optimus could see the All-Spark - thank whoever was out there that the modern era still knew all about the All-Spark - outlined against them, along with thirteen mechs and femmes. Optimus slowly raised his camera and took pictures of them as well. He couldn’t wait to get the pictures developed.

 

The stage was empty for now, but the rest of the hall was full out round tables, with five or six chairs a piece. Most already had tablecloths, most chairs already had some sort of fabric wrapped around them (They had been tied in a bow at the back. Optimus wasn’t so sure what that was for, but it was pretty, he supposed.). 

 

But beneath those tables and chairs were brick floors. Brick! Definitely nonstandard building material. How old was this building? Optimus dropped to his knees to drag a finger along the mortar filled groves. He grinned down at them. If the floors were brick, then. . .

 

Optimus jumped up and dashed to the nearest wall. It was brick as well! Optimus pressed his servo against the brick, grinning like a fool. 

 

How had it stayed up for so long? As far as Optimus knew, this building hadn’t been given much attention since the near constant warfare started. There was no reason this old, old building should be in such great shape. Speaking of warfare -

 

Optimus crammed down his feelings and focused on the practicality of the space. While it was certainly big enough for Megatron, it was also big enough to house another hundred mechs and femmes. 

 

Optimus’ excitement died at the thought of having to interact with so many people. He’d handled the Iaconian troops well enough, but they were troops. Soldiers. He had a haunting feeling that the mechs invited to his bonding ceremony would be important politically, and not the mechs he’d fought beside.

 

Optimus had forgotten how intimidating war could be for civilians - but he’d also forgotten how intimidating normal life could be for a war veteran.

 

Because that what he was now. A war veteran.

 

His plating crawled from the realization. That didn’t feel right. That didn’t feel right  _ at all _ . Optimus had never -

 

The end of the war hadn’t ever been more than a concept for Optimus. Before he’d been involved in it, and before it had even started, he’d been in the academy. The academy had been centuries of his life.  _ Centuries _ , and then it was off to the battlefield for him. He spent his entire life preparing for war, and then he just - the war just ended.

 

And now Optimus was a war veteran.

 

That didn’t sound right, veterans were old and rusty and - and - veterans were like Kup Minor. Old, honored and awarded, a pillar of strength. The very embodiment of hope and courage, chock full of anecdotes. Retired but still going strong.

 

Optimus didn’t feel like that at all. He wasn’t like Kup at all. He wasn’t strong. He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t a beacon of hope or a pillar of strength or whatnot. He was just Optimus. Just a pawn in the long game of war and peace.

 

He wrapped his arms around himself and stumbled towards the door of the hall, of this huge religious building. It felt wrong to be here now, weary and scarred and broken in the face of all this beauty. It felt wrong to be someone’s intended, now that he’d realized - it felt wrong to be a veteran and yet getting bonded for the first time.

 

He didn’t feel right at all.

 

\--

 

Megatron stared at the shadowed ceiling above him. The berth was too large now, uncomfortable without the shallow dip his weight had carved out. He didn’t dare toss and turn for fear of waking up Strika and Lugnut, who’d opted to sleep on the floor, curled around each other.

 

He was having second thoughts about - about all of it. About the bonding, about the ceremony, about trading out his berth. His old one would have fit the both of them. Optimus was small in comparison to Megatron, and Megatron highly doubted he recharged while spread out.

 

Megatron held back a sigh.

 

At the very least, he’d be able to see his old friend again - Shockwave. It had been too long. Seeing him again, at the very least, would be worth it. Even if Shockwave still wore his Iaconian disguise.

 

And Optimus. He’d be able to see Optimus. They’d only known each other for about 100 years, but he already felt like a constant. Since they’d started fighting, since their armies had caught on that one track of land, Megatron hadn’t gone more than two days or so without seeing him.

 

Well - sometime, Megatron didn’t see him for weeks, but he could hear Optimus’ voice, even from across no bot’s land. That speakerphone function of his came in handy. Unfortunately, it also meant that Optimus had the attention of Kaonite and Tarnian soldiers as well. It made for nice, loud rallies in the light of the moon. Lord Megazarak had been eternally frustrated, but Megatron had loved them.

 

There was a time when Optimus and Megatron had spent the day shouting at each other from across no bot’s land. It was on of the first few times they had talked. Optimus still stared at Megatron and his army with wide opticked wonder. There had been no physical fighting that day, just the sparring of tongues and wits. 

 

Optimus had done nicely.  He’d held his own the entire ten or so hours they’d debated. And over something as mundane as preferred blaster strength! It had morphed from blasters to sniper rifles to cannons and bombs. Megatron had been delighted - from what his snipers could tell, Optimus had been smiling as well, battlemask retracted among the safety of his officers.

 

It was the only reason Megatron asked them not to shoot. And here they were, almost a century later.

 

Intended to bond.

 

Megatron finally turned over. After a second, his back to the rest of the room, he allowed himself the comfort of curling up. Would Optimus enjoy sleeping curled up? On his side? On his back? He had minimal kibble, so he shouldn’t have too much of a problem. Megatron’s flightframe upgrades meant he still had trouble sleeping comfortably. He was still accustomed to the solid lines of a miner, curled up and warm in the press of the dark.

 

They slept in piles, stacked together with intertwined limbs, waiting for the alarm that announced the start of a new shift. The rumble of engines was loud, the position was always uncomfortable, but it was home. And Megatron missed it.

 

What would Optimus think of the mines? Of Megatron’s origins? Megatron, somewhere in his spark, hoped he would be able to take Optimus down there with him. Hoped that Optimus would love it like he did and would be able to take strength from it. Because in the end, it didn’t matter if they were married in Iacon, or Kaon, or both. 

 

In the end, it just mattered that Optimus would be accepted by Megatron’s people.

 

\--

 

Optimus disconnected from the prison interface and stepped back. Rodimus stood next to him, shoulders raised and face pulled into a frown. The two of them were flanked by guards, young things who had obviously never seen the war - their energy made Optimus feel old, which was an odd thought to have. Optimus didn’t feel too confident with the two of them as backup. He would have preferred someone who he had fought beside.

 

Mecha were more willing to struggle for the people who struggled with them - Optimus was more willing to die for soldiers who’d fought alongside him.

 

If everything went according to plan, they wouldn’t need to fight anyway. And if they did need to fight, Optimus’ agenda was simple - get everybody out alive and mostly intact. He wasn’t too worried. This prison had held POWs for years, there was no reason it should fail them now.

 

The doors slid open and Optimus went in first. Rodimus followed, and then came the two guards. Optimus could hear them mumble to each other. He kind of wanted to tell them to stop, but - well, the war was over now. They could afford to be a little less formal about everything. Not as informal as Lord Megazarak, however. No matter how long Optimus would stay by Megatron’s side, he didn’t think he’d ever be that relaxed or intense.

 

The four of them continued deep into the building, to where the high priority prisoners were held. Optimus was, as always, shocked at how well kept the prison was. He’d been captured once before, and they prisons on the other side were slag. Somehow, he’d considered it standard, even though he knew that Iacon had the resources and discipline to keep their prisons clean.

 

Optimus tried not to think about that time in prison.

 

Ugly feeling shoved down to the most distant part of his spark, Optimus followed the map he’d snagged from the prison interface. Rodimus followed silently as they passed cells and cells and cells of POWs who pressed against the forcefields that held them back, begging for news of the war, of their families, of Megatron himself.

 

These were technically Optimus’ people now, right? Optimus had a duty of care, didn’t he? But he didn’t act on it. Instead he squared his shoulders and walked past them.

 

The three high priority prison blocks were deep under the rest of the facility. Of the three, only one was partially filled. The rest were empty. It wasn’t easy getting the POWs there and it wouldn’t be easy getting them out. But the treaty had been clear - all high priority POWs were to be returned. Iacon would be getting a few war heros back now too.

 

Optimus paused outside the door to the occupied cell block. He plugged into the access port and waded his way through a good deal of safety protocols. Rodimus shifted so his servos were clasped behind his back. His optics kept darting around. Optimus considered telling him to calm down, but he didn’t want to in front of the two guards.

 

“There are four of them,” Optimus said, “you read the files, right Rodimus?” Rodimus grinned at him, handsome and dashing and heroic. A farce.

 

“Course I did,” he said and the two guards looked like they might swoon. Optimus held back a sigh and entered the final permissions. The doors slid open and Optimus waited for everyone to enter before he unplugged and entered himself. 

 

The cells were huge. Not only to account for the size of the POWs, but also to account for any seeker the cells would have to hold. 

 

Taller than two and a half Optimi standing on each other’s shoulders, Starscream of Vos was terrifyingly big. And he wasn’t even as big as Megatron. He had a whole side of the block to himself, the walls between cells broken down so he’d have more room to fly. 

 

See? This was what a veteran was supposed to be. Old. Intimidating. Awe inspiring.

 

Optimus wasn’t even alive for the war he’d been captured during. From what Optimus had heard, Vos had surrendered unconditionally not too long after Starscream had been taken. 

 

But they weren’t here for him. They were here for the mechs on the other side, Reflector (in his three component forms, Spectro, Viewfinder, and Spyglass) and Soundwave (with his drones? Companions? Iaconian intelligence didn’t really know what to make of Laserbeak, Buzzsaw, Ratbat, and Ravage). As loathe as Longarm was to let them go, Lord Megazarak had insisted on it and nothing Rodimus or Optimus said could dissuade him.

 

“Come to visit me? You shouldn’t have,” Starscream cooed. He fluttered his wings. They clanked against the wall behind him. Optimus frowned at the sound and made a note to get his cell expanded somehow, so he wouldn’t hit the walls when he tried to move around.

 

“We’re not here for you, Starscream,” Rodimus said easily, “but hello to you too. How are you?” Starscream huffed and crossed his arms.

 

“I want out,” Starscream said. Rodimus nodded to him like it was something he’d think about and turned to the POWs on the other side of the walkway. Optimus could help but stare at Starscream a second longer. Starscream picked up on it and knelt close to the forcefield holding him back. “You look awfully familiar. Have we fought before?”

 

“I’m pretty sure I’d remember if we did,” Optimus said. Starscream hummed as Rodimus started speaking to the Kaonite prisoners. Optimus glanced over his shoulder, then took a step closer to Starscream. This was as good as a time as any to try and get information from Starscream. “You don’t by any chance know anything about Kaon, do you?”

 

“Kaon?” Starscream’s lip plates pulled back from his teeth. “Those slaggers are -”

 

“Ok, ok,” Optimus held out his servos. “I was just - ok. Do you know anything about, um, about religion?” Starscream looked suspicious. Optimus shrugged a little and avoided the judgemental look Starscream adopted for his next sentence.

 

“What are you, a scholar?” Starscream hissed. Optimus nodded a little. Starscream rolled his optics. “What will you give me for telling you?”

 

“I don’t have anything to give you,” Optimus said, “but the hall I’m getting bonded in, it used to be a temple of some sort. There’s engravings on the rafters and I thought you might know anything about the language they’re written in.” Starscream looked disgusted and he opened his mouth to say something - Optimus cut him off. “You don’t have to tell me anything, even if you do know. It’s just that I’ve looked and, well, there’s nothing anywhere that talks about it.”

 

“Who are you getting bonded to, soldier?” Starscream asked. Optimus nearly corrected him but. . . well, no one had called him soldier in ages. Other than Kup, and he called everyone soldier. He called  _ Ultra Magnus _ soldier.

 

It was a strange thing to get nostalgic about.

 

“Megatron of Tarn,” Optimus said.

 

“Lord Megazarak’s third?” Starscream said, looking vaguely impressed.

 

“He’s the Second, now,” Optimus said, “Strika is the Third and she’s bonded to Lugnut.” Starscream nodded, smile pulling at his lips.

 

“And you’re not just a soldier, are you?” Starscream said. Optimus smiled at him, but it didn’t reach his optics. Starscream hummed, regarding Optimus carefully. Then his lips twitched upwards. “Alright. Show me the language.”

 

Optimus beamed. He pulled out the pictures he took and pressed them against the forcefield. Starscream leaned over and squinted at them. Optimus could barely contain his excited fidgeting. Starscream finally shifted back to sit cross legged, wings held high.

 

“Now, you’re not a Vosnian sparkling,” Starscream said, “so you’re not going to get the full emotional context of this story. My wings are going to be moving all over the place, and you’re not going to understand any of what that means, are you?”

 

“I don’t think so,” Optimus answered as he put the printouts back into his subspace. “There aren’t any flightframes in Iacon, so. . .”

 

“Good,” Starscream said dismissively, “now, those runes. I’ll tell you the story the runes tell, but you’ve got to do something for me.”

 

“Optimus?”

 

He turned to see Rodimus looking between him and Starscream wearily.

 

“Hi,” Optimus said.

 

“Hi,” Rodimus said, “we’re ready to go.” Optimus’ shoulders fell and he glanced at Starscream, dismayed. Starscream didn’t look too bothered, leaning back on his servos and smirking. Optimus turned back to Rodimus. “You coming with?” Optimus was maybe too aware of the interested look on the guards’ faceplates.

 

Wasn’t going to stop him, though. He had stuff to learn!

 

“I’ll catch up with you,” Optimus said. Rodimus walked over and pulled Optimus down to mumble in his audio receptor.

 

“Starscream has a silver tongue,” Rodimus murmured, “if he can find a way to trick you, well. That’ll be the end of Iacon.” Optimus shook his head.

 

“I know better than to let him,” Optimus replied. Rodimus gave him a knowing look. Optimus grabbed his brother’s shoulders. “He’s going to tell me -”

 

“Ancient history, I know,” Rodimus said with a sigh, “you’d risk it all for just that much more knowledge, wouldn’t you?” Optimus rubbed at one of the scars on his arm, the metal of it newly buffed and shining with pride. Rodimus’ optics lingered on the motion for a second. “Fine. Just don’t give him any national secrets, ok?”

 

“I’ll try,” Optimus said and Rodimus snorted. He hugged Optimus and headed out, glancing back at Optimus with a worried look. Optimus waited until the door closed behind Rodimus and the two guards to sit down as close to the forcefield as he could. “What do you want me to do?”

 

“Tell Megatron and Thundercracker I’m alive,” Starscream said. Thundercracker was the current Winglord of Vos, if Optimus was remembering right. He frowned.

 

“They already know you’re alive, though?” Optimus pointed out. “It’s not a secret. Every single Iaconian knows you’re down here.” Starscream’s wings jerked into a higher position. Paired with his expression, it didn’t take a genius to recognize outrage.

 

“Every Iaconian, maybe,” Starscream said, “but not Vos! We never leave one of our own behind. We surrendered centuries ago, someone should have come for me by now!” Starscream lurched to his feet, wings flicking this way in that in a language only he could understand. “Do you even know anything of our war?”

 

“I hadn’t come online at that point,” Optimus said, “and the Iaconian government regularly destroys relevant historical and cultural information.” Starscream threw his servos into the air.

 

“And you just  _ let them?” _ He screeched. Optimus flinched at the volume. “You Iaconians! You waste and you waste and you waste - and you torture mercilessly!” Optimus went stick straight.

 

“Has someone tortured you?” Optimus stood. “Can you provide names or descriptions?”

 

“Ultra Magnus,” Starscream said, “tall for an Iaconian, blue and white and disgusting. Tortured my people for thousands of years! Trapped our sparklings here and brainwashed them! Forced them to submit themselves for testing and experiments and - and you sit back and do nothing as he destroys your history!” Optimus trembled under the weight of his words.

 

Iacon would never condone that. _ Ultra Magnus  _ would never condone that.

 

(there was a soft voice in the back of his processor that pulled up the ratio of POW deaths in Iaconian prisons to ordered prisoner executions - the number of deaths was way, way higher)

 

( _ and that was just this war _ )

 

Optimus couldn’t say anything to Starscream. He slowly sat back down.

 

“Vosnians don’t leave our own behind,” Starscream repeated, quieter now, deadly. “Thundercracker will undoubtedly still be in charge. He’s good at what he does - and he’ll have been good for my people. So tell me,  _ sparkling _ , if you will tell him I’m alive.” Optimus nodded.

 

“Yeah,” he said, “I’ll tell him. I promise.” Starscream eyed him, then nodded and sat back down. Even without the push of his EM Field, Optimus could tell he was still pissed.

 

“And Megatron?”

 

“Yes, I’ll tell Megatron too,” Optimus said. Starscream settled himself more comfortably on the floor.

 

“I don’t remember much of the start of Iacon,” Starscream said, “but I know they originated as a mix of many other city-states. This particular language and story are Praxiot, as it turns out. Praxiot, but I think there’s a Kaonite version as well. I’ve only heard it once, so I might have the details wrong. It’s the story of the Creator and the Fallen.”

 

“Who were they?” Optimus asked without thinking. Starscream raised an unimpressed optic ridge. Optimus shrunk back and spread his servos apologetically. Starscream sighed and rolled his optics.

 

“Their names have been lost to the millenia,” Starscream explained, “although I remember well enough.  _ She  _ was the Creator of All, or so we praised her, for with her Forge she could make anything she set her mind to. We would murmur her name in prayer and prayer only, so as not to distract her from her work. The Fallen’s name we threw away, replaced it with what he was for what he was - a madman, a fading spark. But those are different stories with different prices. Can I continue?”

 

Optimus thought over the dump of information. He’d never heard of these people - creation gods? - before. Were there more? Did Praxus still have record of their religious beliefs? Optimus’ spark was pounding in his chest. Now that the war was over, now that Iacon and Kaon and Tarn would be looking for alliances outside each other, would Optimus get to meet with an actual Praxiot? Would he be able to learn more about their culture? Their mythology?

 

He set up a program to transcribe what Starscream was saying and save it to a file named “HISTORY - BONDING HALL. STARSCREAM” and then he looked up and nodded. This way he could allow himself to fully absorb the story now, and still be able to study it later. 

 

“The Creator and the Fallen were in love, once upon a time,” Starscream said. His optics dimmed, wings flicking this way and that. “This was a long, long time ago. Long enough for the Deceiver to still be alive. The Deceiver - I’d tell you his name, but we forgot it for a reason - is exactly what his name describes. We’re not wasting words on him.”

 

“He’s really that terrible?” Optimus said. Starscream nodded.

 

“He’s worse,” Starscream said, “and he had control of the world. The Creator, determined to fix the Deceiver’s mistakes, challenged him in battle. The Fallen knew she wouldn’t be able to take on the Deceiver alone and stepped up to fight alongside her. The Fallen loved her, you see, he would do anything to keep her safe and sound.

 

“For three days and three nights, they fought in ritual combat. By the end, Sol- the Creator,” Starscream’s optics brightened as he frowned. He stared at Optimus, who didn’t dare so much as twitch as he waited for Starscream to continue. “By the end, the Creator was so damaged that she could barely move - and the Fallen wasn’t much better.

 

“The Fallen said to the Creator, _ if we never make it out of here alive _ ,” Starscream lowered his voice for the Fallen’s, wings angled high and proud, “ _ I want you to know - I thought you were wonderful since the day we met, but you knew that. I thought you were strong since I first saw you at work, but you knew that. I have been in love with you for as long as I can remember. And if we never end this battle, if we never win. . . then I want you to know that it was worth it. To fight by your side. To match wits with yours. To learn from you, and to teach you in return _ .

 

“And the Creator, touched by his words, straightened her back struts and responded,” Starscream’s voice took on a raspier sound, the pitch a little higher as he re positioned his wings, “ _ my love, my light, my muse - we will not fall today. The Deceiver will not last much longer. We will win. And we will return home, and I will make you mine. _ And with the last of her strength she pulled him to his feet.  _ And I will give you all of me. _

 

“Invigorated, the Fallen stood beside her, and they rushed into battle one last time. And the Creator had been right - the Deceiver didn’t have the struts to fight the both of them back again. He fell to the Creator and her determination, and to the Fallen and his love. Under the screaming of the crowd, they embraced.”

 

Starscream shifted, optics slowly turning back on. He and Optimus stared at each other for a couple minutes as Optimus took in the story.

 

It was sweet, was Optimus’ first thought. It. . . It was sweet.

 

“Good, wasn’t it?” Starscream said. “Vos, some of Tarn, Nyon, Rodion, and maybe Tetrahex follow completely different ideologies. Iacon, judging by what you’ve told me, no longer follows any. Kaon and Praxus follow something along these lines. The Light, the Beast, the Scribe, so on and so forth. There are thirteen, all their names lost to history - before you ask, yes, the Fallen and the Arisen are seperate people.”

 

“Wow,” Optimus murmured. 

 

Now that he had it, he didn’t really know what to do with all that information. What could he  _ say _ ? The Creator and the Fallen - Kaon followed their story, didn’t she? So. Is this the kind of romance Megatron grew up on? Did they consider the Fallen more attractive or the Creator?

 

Or no wait, Megatron said he was from Tarn. Tarn, according to Starscream, didn’t completely follow these legends. Optimus opened his mouth to ask, but his comm. pinged. 

  
He stood and, with a longing glance at Starscream, turned away. He pressed a finger to his audio, the universal signal for taking a comm., and pinged back.

 

::Optimus.:: It was Elita and she didn’t sound happy. Optimus automatically geared up for the worst.

 

::Report.:: There was a slight pause, and then -

 

::Megatron just arrived in Iacon.::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!!! let me know what you think in the comments? :D


	5. Chapter 5

Optimus rushed up to Megatron. His intended stood on the steps in front of the Iaconian palace, admiring the architecture idly. Optimus hoped he wasn’t shining with condensation as he came to a stop, but he wouldn’t put it past his overheating frame. He’d just ran all the way from the prison.

 

“Megatron!” Optimus gasped. Megatron turned and  _ wow _ Optimus really wished he’d cleaned himself up a little. Megatron was big and intimidating and shining in the sun.

 

It reminded Optimus of the nightmares that plagued him during the war - Megatron and Lord Megazarak, inside the walls of Iacon, looking down at him and smiling as they laid waste to his city-state, their haunting images superimposed over screams of pain and fear and misery.

 

But Megatron’s smile today was soft.

 

“Optimus,” he said. He knelt as Optimus reached for him. 

 

Megatron wrapped his servos around one of Optimus’. Optimus smiled up at him, a little shy, a little embarrassed, but he carefully cupped Megatron’s faceplates with his free servo. Megatron caught ahold of it, grip almost painfully gentle, and pulled it down for a kiss.

 

Optimus promptly turned ten shades bluer than he already was and his engine spluttered. Megatron laughed and let his hands fall.

 

Some part of Optimus, some part he didn’t want to let see the light of day, wanted Megatron to keep holding his servo forever.

  
“How have you been?” Megatron asked. “I’ve got to say, going without at least hearing your voice for more than two days was disconcerting.” Which, honestly, same. Optimus had missed him too. Megatron was right, it was strange going without him for so long - at some point Optimus had just accepted constant contact with Megatron was normal.

 

But Optimus, still recovering from the servo-kiss could only manage, “I’m okish.”

 

“Okish?” Megatron said, definitely amused. Optimus stuttered and shrugged and turned away to see -

 

A crowd had gathered and was growing by the second. Mechs and femmes waved and sent Optimus thumbs-up. Some mechs complained at the edges of the crowd, EM Fields so strongly laced with discomfort and worry that Optimus could feel it up on the palace steps. But the overwhelming support was a little - well, overwhelming. It took nearly all of Optimus’ self control not to cry at the size of it.

 

Optimus leaned closer to Megatron. “Have they been here the whole time?”

 

Megatron frowned. “You didn’t see them?” Optimus turned to him, mouth open in a grimace, and Megatron smiled. “They’ve been staring at me for a while.” He glanced out over the now-larger crowd.

 

“Do, uh,” Optimus caught sight of a pair of speedsters with cameras aimed at him and Megatron, “do you want to go inside? Before a riot starts.” Megatron’s optics widened.

 

“Are Iaconians prone to rioting?” Megatron asked. Optimus shook his head with a little laugh.

 

“No, but most of them have hated you for a while now,” Optimus said. He smiled. “Let’s go?”

 

“Yes, let’s,” Megatron said with another look out at the crowd. More and more reporters were filling the crowd. Whether Optimus liked it or not, this was going to make the evening news.

 

It didn’t stop Optimus from taking a chance and grabbing Megatron by the servo to lead him inside.

 

The crowd cheered behind him.

 

\--

 

“We’re in the process of setting up a Kaonite embassy in Iacon,” Optimus said, voice quiet in the tiny room. 

 

He sat on the table of an office, old and unused. It was shoved against the wall to make room for Megatron and his long legs. Unfortunately, Iacon was ill equipped to house a mech of Megatron’s size - nothing was big enough for him. Megatron didn’t mind getting to lay down all the time, but it wasn’t exactly dignified.

 

“Good,” Megatron said, “but you’re going to need a Tarnian embassy as well. Kaon and Tarn are currently in an alliance of sorts, but it’s not going to last forever. You’re going to want separate treaties for both.” Optimus hummed in response as he opened a new display to type something out - probably a note about the embassy.

 

Megatron worked from the datapads he’d brought with him from Kaon. Optimus, however, had a holographic display he worked off of. The projector sat between his spread thighs, hooked to several datapads.

 

Optimus was always moving while he worked, turning this way and that, arms up, typing things out over a keyboard that tracked two detachable sensors on his wrists. His peds wiggled and knee bounced. He wiggled in his spot sometimes, a quick series of movements to readjust and sit more comfortably.

 

He was fascinating to watch, if Megatron did say so himself. If it weren’t for the pressing importance of negotiating the survival of two post-war city-states, Megatron would just dedicate a day to focus on Optimus.

 

“You’re going to have to explain how that works someday,” Optimus said as he skimmed some sort of article. “For as long as I can remember, Kaon and Tarn have just counted as a singular whole. Not two separate city-states. Who’s in charge of Tarn?”

 

“Officially? I am,” Megatron said, “the idea is that Lord Megazarak would be busy with Kaon and as his Second, I should run Tarn. But I ended up with Kaon and Strika with Tarn, and any problems in between we handle as they turn up.” Optimus clicked his tongue and glanced up at Megatron, faceplates drawn into a frown.

 

“Lord Megazarak,” he said, voice tinged with soft disapproval, “should be making more of an effort to keep the Tarnian-Kaonite command structure intact.” Megatron smiled.

 

“Tarnian-Kaonite, huh?” Optimus shifted and shrugged, avoiding Megatron’s optics. “It’s ok. I think it’s nice that you’re taking such an interest in my city-states.” Optimus shrugged again.

 

“I’m going to go live there with you,” Optimus explained, “correct me if I’m wrong, but being bonded to you has some sort of political significance. I need to know what I’m getting into. With Iacon it’s easy - I’ve lived here my whole life, there’s one culture and no cultural history to speak of. Easy peasy.”

 

“No cultural history?” Megatron said at the same time as a knock sounded. He and Optimus paused, staring at each other. Optimus then turned off the projector and jumped off the table. Megatron sighed and shut down the datapad he was using.

 

“Hello?” Optimus said as he opened the door. Two Iaconians stood there, obviously reporters of some sort.

 

“Hi!” The smaller one, a white and blue minibot, said, saluting. “I’m Pix, short for Pixelate, and this is my bonded, Zoom. We’re with the Iaconian Press and were wondering if we could just do a quick interview of you and Megatron? Longarm Prime gave us the go-ahead and the no-ask list, but if you’re not comfy, we can go.” 

 

Optimus turned to Megatron and raised an optic ridge. Megatron shrugged and straightened his slouched posture.

 

“Sure,” Optimus said and stood aside. The two of them stepped in. Optimus shut the door. 

 

He looked uncomfortable, like he’d rather just get this over with. Had he had a bad experience with the media before? Megatron kind of wanted to know who had done what to unnerve his intended like this - his intended, who had stood up to him and Lord Megazarak in the battlefield countless times, his brave  _ brave  _ intended.

 

“Hello,” Pix said and saluted to Megatron, Canon following suit. Megatron nodded to them in greeting. “Wow, up. You’re much bigger up close.”

 

“Thank you,” Megatron decided to go with. Pix beamed at him.

 

“No problem!” He said, and plopped himself down on the floor. He took out a datapad and stylus of his own. “I’m going to? Start with you,” he turned to smile at Optimus, “and then Megatron and then the both of you at once. I’ll be recording the entire time.” He held up an external recording device - just a microphone attached to a small computer of sorts. No visual input. “Zoom’s just gonna go around and do his thing while we talk. How does that sound?”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Optimus said with a little smile. Not a real smile, Megatron noticed, just big enough to exist, but nothing true enough to reach his optics.

 

“Great,” Pix said and, with a quick glance at Megatron, gave his full attention to Optimus. “So. Hi.”

 

“Hello,” Optimus said. Pix’s faceplates changed color at the polite smile Optimus offered.

 

“Sorry, I’ve always kinda just admired you from afar,” Pix said, flustered, “you’re so much more handsome up close!”

 

Optimus laughed, some of the tension sliding from his shoulders. Pix looked absolutely enraptured as Zoom spammed his camera’s shutter button. “Thank you.”

 

“No, thank you,” Pix said and shook his head. “Right, interview. Sorry, I’m the opposite of professional. Wow, ok. So. Most of our questions are gonna be about the changes we’re about to go through, is that ok?” Optimus nodded. “Alright then! This past war continued for a long time, which meant that we didn’t really have much contact with other city-states. Could you tell me more about that? Is that going to change in the future?”

 

Megatron didn’t even think to turn his datapads back on to suffer through another short infinity of bureaucracy. Now that the nerves had seemed to disappear, Optimus was in his element.

 

Optimus responded to Pix’s questions about the war and socio-economic impacts of recovery with confidence and passion, gesticulating as though he was giving a speech to an audience of thousands, rather than giving an interview. 

 

And once Optimus got going, it seemed like it was hard for him to stop talking. His answers became starting-off points for other unrelated rants which gathered momentum and suddenly Optimus was explaining the cultural ramifications of  _ the government sanctioned destruction of history and  _ -

 

Wow. 

 

Just -  _ wow _ . 

 

Megatron, for a moment there, forgot Zoom was in the room. His attention was caught by the third click of the camera to find the mech next to him, lens pointed in Megatron’s direction. He slowly lowered it with an embarrassed expression.

 

“Sorry,” he whispered, careful not to disturb Optimus’ latest topic - how the commodification of knowledge in the upper rings of Iaconian society would lead to a cultural divide between the upper and lower classes and the widespread effects associated with -

 

“You’re just doing your job,” Megatron said and Zoom beamed. He raised his camera and took another quick shot of Megatron before returning his attention to Optimus. Megatron returned his gaze to his intended as well. 

 

Optimus had already abandoned his previous topic to talk about religion (“Other city-states have such expansive and widely practiced belief systems and Iacon doesn’t - have you ever thought about that?”) When he paused, glanced over at Megatron, and slumped back a little. “I apologize, I just - I just went in all sorts of directions. Was there anything else you wanted to ask?”

 

“Oh,” Pix startled a little and glanced down at his datapad. A couple topics in he had stopped scribbling down notes and had just stared at Optimus with wide optics. “Oh, no, thank you. You’ve - You’ve given me lots to think about, not gonna lie. Can I quote you on all these uh, these topics if I do a follow up article - or multiple follow up articles?”

 

“Of course,” Optimus said and beamed, “I’d love that.” Pix grinned at him, weak and definitely a little in love. Megatron didn’t even have it in him to be jealous or disapproving - or anything other than a little fond. Pix just had one of those faces.

 

“Thank you!” Pix said before he turned to Megatron. “Good afternoon.”

 

“Hello,” Megatron said. Pix smiled, a little uncertainty, then consulted his datapad. Optimus looked between him and Megatron a couple times, then turned his projector back on and engaged his keyboard. Megatron, waiting for for Pix to pull himself together, contented himself with watching Optimus type rapidly away.

 

“Alright,” Pix finally said, “ok. So - so when Zoomie and I were brainstorming these questions, we did so with the idea that we wouldn’t really be able to ask you anything about politics or culture or anything - it’s a new alliance and we didn’t really want to put that risk. So? We decided to ask about the alliance itself, the speech you and Optimus gave, and? The bonding? Is that alright?”

 

“Yes,” Megatron said. Optimus glanced up again. “Though if you wanted to ask about Kaonite or Tarnian culture, I wouldn’t be too opposed. Lord Megazarak might be uncomfortable with me talking about politics, though.”

 

“Great, that’s great,” Pix said and settled himself into a more comfortable position. “So, first question - how are you? Feeling a little empty now the war’s over?” Megatron couldn’t help but feel there was some sort of ulterior motive for the question, but he answered anyway.

 

“Feeling pretty good, actually,” Megatron said. Pix raised an optic ridge, smile a little more relaxed now that Megatron said it. “The war’s over, trade routes are reopening, and I get to bond to the mech of my dreams.” Optimus made an aborted noise and pulled up five more windows as his engine picked up a notch. 

 

Megatron grinned at him. Poor little Prime, trying to hide his embarrassment behind his work. 

 

“Trade routes?” Pix asked carefully.

 

“No one wants to take sides in a war that doesn’t concern them,” Megatron said. Pix nodded. Optimus’ engine returned to it’s normal settings as he calmed. Pix asked a couple more questions, all boring, all carefully phrased inquiries about the guarantees of the treaty and alliance. Megatron answered them with all possible seriousness, ignoring Zoom zooming around the cramped office to take pictures.

 

“Can I ask why we’re using this office?” Pix asked after. Megatron smiled with maybe a little more fang than he’d intended.

 

“Iacon wasn’t built for mechs of my size,” Megatron said, “and this was the largest unused office. Unfortunately, it’s not exactly big.” Pix nodded sympathetically. Megatron wasn’t sure how Pix could be sympathetic when he was a teeny tiny mech, but - whatever. Maybe he was claustrophobic.

 

“Alrighty,” Pix said and glanced behind him. He scooted back so he could lean against the wall. “So! Now that we’ve got all the alliance stuff behind, we can talk about the speech! I thought it was really impressive. Your entrance was really strong and a little intimidating, but the impact of it was made just that much more intense by what you said afterwards. Personally, I hung off of your every word. I agree wholeheartedly with everything you said about Optimus - was that planned?”

 

It was planned. “No.” But it had been surprisingly easy to think up.

 

Some part of Megatron really believed the words that had come out of his own mouth.

 

“See! I told you!” Pix gasped and pointed at Zoom, who groaned.

 

“I’m just saying, all the best speeches are rehearsed,” Zoom said, “all those big important ones we got to record? The ones Ultra Magnus did? All pre written by someone. I saw a draft!”

 

“Well, Megatron’s was on the spot,” Pix said smugly, “and his was amazing.” He suddenly gasped and turned back to Megatron, rubbing at the back of his helm. “Sorry, being unprofessional again. I hate having to clear up rumors, but as a journalist it’s part of my job. So! Did you really mean every word?”

 

“Of course I did,” Megatron said, “if I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t have said it. Optimus is extremely important to me - I would never mess with his emotions like that.”

 

“Except mid battle to make me hit you harder,” Optimus said and - well, he wasn’t wrong. Megatron laughed and was rewarded with one of Optimus’ true smiles, big and cheerful and carefree. 

 

“That’s good,” Pix said, sounding very relieved, “the people of Iacon are worried about Optimus, you know. We want to know we can trust you.” Megatron nodded.

 

“I understand,” he said, “I would be protective of him too, if he was my prince. Which he will be, in a couple days.” Megatron smiled at Optimus, who was very determinedly typing up some sort of report.

 

“Speaking of that, I’ve heard you don’t have any say in your bonding ceremony?” Pix said. “Is that true?”   
  


“For the most part, it is,” Megatron said. Pix sighed and shook his head. “It’s alright. I don’t know much about Iaconian bonding ceremony customs - bonding has always felt like it was too far off, what with the war going on. I’m perfectly content not being included. Besides, he’ll be marrying me again in Kaon.” Megatron didn’t dare say anything about Tarn. Sure, it was where he was from, but he was, officially, a Kaonite dignitary. 

 

“Oh, so you’re having two ceremonies?” Pix said. Megatron nodded. “Wow. That’s really cool. Zoomie and I barely got through our own ceremony - and we only had one!” 

 

“That’s cuz you’re bad at planning things out,” Zoom said fondly. Pix stuck out his tongue.

 

“Anyway,” Pix said, paused, then continued, “this is entirely self indulgent but. What’s your favorite thing about Optimus?” Megatron reset his optics in surprise.

 

“My favorite thing?” Megatron said. Pix nodded. Megatron looked over at Optimus, who’d gone dead still.

 

What was his favorite thing about Optimus?

 

They hadn’t thought to think about it during those long couple days of planning. There were always bigger, more important things to worry about. The peace treaty. The rerouting of all economic processes. New supply and trade lines. There were so many other things to worry about that - Megatron hadn’t figured he would have to come up with something so simple.

 

What was his favorite thing about Optimus?   
  


Optimus raised his optics, thick lip caught between his teeth. His expression was a careful mix of anticipation and hope.

 

Megatron liked that about him. Liked how hopeful he was, liked how smart he was. He liked how Optimus smiled and laughed when he finally relaxed, how comfortable he was making hard decisions when it came to push and shove. He liked how serious Optimus was when he had to be, which was all the time. He liked seeing Optimus push himself and succeed.

 

What was his favorite thing about Optimus?

 

He liked Optimus on the battlefield, battlemask on, optics blazing, engine roaring as he threw himself at Megatron again and again and again. He liked how determined Optimus was, how he refused to give up until he had to, how he’d fought Megatron to standstill each and every time. He liked Optimus when he knew what he wanted, when he negotiated, shoulders squared and focused on his goal.

 

What was his favorite thing about Optimus?

 

He liked how Optimus held himself, shining with polish and covered in scars, head high and back straight despite the exhaustion that weighed down his spark. How he looked Megatron in the face, determined him a threat, and yet was still willing to stand at his side forever. How he had seen a reporter and gotten nervous, but still went through with the interview. 

 

What was his favorite thing about Optimus?

 

“I think,” Megatron said slowly, “it’s his courage.” Optimus’ lips twisted up and he dropped his head. Megatron watched as Optimus shifted and rearranged himself, nodding. “Yes, his courage.”

 

“He is really brave,” Pix said sweetly. Megatron gave him an approving nod.

 

“Well, what do you know,” he said, “a reporter with a lick of sense.” Pix snorted and mimed throwing his stylus at Megatron as Zoom clicked away at his camera.

 

Optimus returned to his work, a shy little smile on his face.

 

\--

 

Even the biggest berthroom in the palace wasn’t big enough for Megatron. He and Optimus stood inside it, both of them staring at the white walls and disproportionate looking berth and the thinnest washrack door Optimus had ever seen in his life. Megatron towered over the room, broad shoulders and tall legs and long limbs almost disturbingly out of place in the room.

 

Optimus kind of wanted to turn right around and walk back to the office he and Megatron had been sharing. It was far smaller and Megatron would have to sleep sitting up against the wall, but Optimus didn’t even know if the berth would even hold Megatron long enough for him to get a full rest cycle.

 

“I wish I still had a room here,” Optimus said thoughtlessly, still trying to work out how Megatron would be able to recharge in here. “It was big enough to hold two of you.”

 

“What do you mean ‘still’? You don’t have quarters here?” Megatron said incredulously. “You’re Ultra Magnus’ first forged. You should have a room in his house. And this is a palace - there is absolutely no reason why you shouldn’t have a room.” Optimus shrugged.

 

“I gave it all up to fight on the battlefield,” Optimus said. Megatron did a double take.

 

Optimus wasn’t lying. Seventy-five years ago, when Optimus had been fresh out of the Elite Guard Academy, Ultra Magnus had been very clear about the choice he was giving Optimus: stay at home and become Optimus Magnus after the war finished or go fight in the war - at the price of the comforts of home. He had been attempting to call Optimus’ bluff. 

 

But Optimus had been serious.

 

“I know this isn’t something you’d want to hear from your intended, days before the ceremony,” Megatron said, “but I do not like your carrier.” 

 

Optimus shrugged again. He’d been thinking about what Longarm and Smokescreen had told him, especially in the light of today’s interveiw with Pix and Zoom. People came up with rumors a lot. And, as a part of that, everyone had their own opinion. It didn’t make it feel any nicer when Optimus was the butt of jokes and rumors, but opinions. . . well. What could he do about opinions?

 

So when Megatron said he didn’t like Ultra Magnus - Optimus didn’t really have a reaction. After all, everyone had opinions.

 

Besides, Optimus didn’t like Lord Megazarak at all. So Optimus and Megatron evened each other out. Or something.

 

Optimus didn’t know, he was tired. 

 

Megatron sighed and walked over to the berth. It looked even smaller with Megatron standing besides it, inspecting the structural integrity of the base. “How about you sleep on the berth? I’ll take the floor.”

 

“I can’t ask you to sleep on the floor,” Optimus said. It had been a long, long day and sleeping on the floor would hurt Megatron’s back. 

 

“I’m going to be on it anyway, there’s no way this berth can support my weight,” Megatron said. He turned to Optimus. “And you just said you don’t have an actual room here.”

 

“I have my officers’ quarters,” Optimus protested, “we all sleep together. It’s alright.” Megatron reached out and gently put his servos on Optimus’ upper arms. His servos were too big to put on Optimus’ shoulders - yay! Size difference!

 

(Optimus knew it was far too early to be thinking about it, but it was late and he was tired and therefore couldn’t really fault himself for wondering what those servos felt like around his waist, his thighs, his -)

 

“Is there any official cultural or religious reason we shouldn’t be in the same room before our bonding ceremony?” Megatron asked. Optimus refreshed his visual and tactile input systems a couple times before answering. He didn’t want Megatron to have any idea that he was thinking about, you know. Interfacing.

 

“No?”

 

“Is there any reason why you can’t sleep here with me?” Megatron asked. Optimus shook his head. “Then you can afford to sleep on a berth for once.” He dropped his servos from Optimus’ frame and gestured to the bed. Optimus, a little shell shocked, watched him make his way to the washracks door.

 

“Oh,” Optimus said quietly. Megatron looked at him over his shoulder. Optimus stared at him for a couple minutes. “I forgot what I was gonna say.” Megatron laughed. He didn’t quite fit through the door, so he settled for reaching in and rinsing himself off half in half out of the washracks.’

 

Optimus watched the puddle on the floor get bigger as Megatron continued to wash himself. Optimus tried very hard to give Megatron his privacy, but he didn’t really have it in him to turn away or - or -

 

“Then you should lay down and get some rest,” Megatron said, “maybe it’ll come back to you.” Optimus huffed but wandered towards the berth. Whoever had set up the room had obviously attempted to adjust it to Megatron’s requirements - one of said adjustments was the height of the berth. Optimus started at it. Instead of coming up to his hip, it leveled out at chest height.

 

“I should comm. Elita,” Optimus realized out loud. He fumbled with his he comm. systems and pinged her. She pinged back and opened a secure channel for the two of them to talk on.

 

::Where are you?:: She said, forgoing a greeting of any sort. It kinda threw Optimus for a loop.

 

::. . . Sharing a room with Megatron.::

 

There was a brief pause. Optimus took the opportunity to jump up onto the berth. He sat there, legs swinging over the edge. Megatron had soaked half the floor in his attempts to wash himself. Optimus kind of wanted to go find the towels he was sure were stored somewhere in the room and mop it up. He didn’t want Megatron to rust.

 

::Alright. Be safe.:: Elita finally answered. ::The boys say goodnight and that we’ll see you at dawn tomorrow for the security council meeting.::

 

::Ok, thank you.:: Optimus answered and closed the channel. He watched Megatron dry himself off and lay down on the dry part of the ground, over by the door. Optimus jumped off the berth and slipped inside the washracks to rinse himself with warm solvent (a rarity on the battlefield) and blowdry himself.

 

“Are your officers alright with you staying?” Megatron said, voice muffled where he had his face buried in the crook of his arm. He was laying on his stomach, the metal of his back kibble left to air dry. He’d rust. Optimus nodded. 

 

“Yeah,” he said when he realized that Megatron couldn’t see him. He ignored the hot flush of embarrassment and returned to the berth. He grabbed one of the pillows, big enough that Optimus could simply curl up on it if he wanted. He dragged it over to Megatron and - after a second’s worth of thought - just dropped it on Megatron’s head.

 

He wobbled back over to the berth and heaved himself up and onto it. He pulled the blanket around himself as Megatron rumbled a quiet few complaints. Optimus got comfortable and fell still, listening to Megatron shift around for another minute or so.

 

The silence was unnerving.

 

It curled around Optimus’ processor and reminded him just how achingly alone he was. 

 

He didn’t have rooms of his own. 

 

He had hurt his friends time and time again. 

 

He was getting bonded with his people’s enemy.

 

His own carrier didn’t care enough about him to give him the love he needed.

 

It was the dark and quiet that allowed him to make that terrible statement, to think about how - how  _ horrible  _ it was -

 

“Did you mean it?” Optimus blurted into the dark. He tugged anxiously at the blanket. “Everything you said during the interview. About me.” He opened and closed his mouth a couple more times, debating continuing. 

 

“Listen,” Megatron said seriously, but quietly as well. Like he also had to summon up the strength to break the wall of silence. “This is a sham of a bonding. We made it purely for political gain and in that respect, there’s nothing emotional behind it.” 

 

The words hurt. They really did. Optimus didn’t dare let the emotion escape him. He muted his EM Field and curled tighter into himself, spark yearning for - for something Optimus couldn’t identify.

 

This damned silence.

 

“But Optimus,” Megatron continued, “that doesn’t make me care about you any less.” Optimus’ spark shuddered in its casing. “I wasn’t lying when I called you my battlefield prince. I wasn’t lying when I said I love how brave you are.” Optimus prayed to - to anyone who could hear him. He wouldn’t be able to take it if it were a lie. He couldn’t.

 

It was in the dark of night, when he curled around himself to stave off the cold and the loneliness, that Optimus remembered how tired he was. How exhausting it was to have his job, how much pressure there was to do well, to protect, to serve. To be selfless. It was easy enough to ignore during the day. It was easy enough to let the sun burn away that sinking feeling in his chest. But during the night. . . 

 

If Megatron was lying about caring, Optimus wouldn’t be able to survive it. He would lay down and never get back up. He knew it like he knew his paint job, like he knew his own past.

 

“Optimus? Are you listening?”

 

Optimus had to reset his voice box a couple times, optics blurry with excess lubricant.

 

“I’m listening,” Optimus whispered.

 

“I want this to work,” Megatron said. “Not because it has to, not because we expect it to. I want it to work because I respect you.” Optimus muted his voice box to stop a quiet whimper from escaping. “I want to get to know you - I want to know you more than just my favorite rival, the brave little Iacon who has stood up to me, to his city-state, even to his own carrier.”  _ You’re wrong _ , Optimus wanted to tell him,  _ I have never dared stand up to him _ . “I want to know you as Optimus. I want to know what you like and dislike, the things you want from life, I want to know you like the back of my own servo. I want to learn you.

 

“I know you’re tired of getting hurt. I know you’re tired of fighting. But just for a bit - just for a little while - could you fight for us? Could you try and get to know me too?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. . . it's spring break. . . and guess what the next chapter will have. . . ;D
> 
> thank you so much for reading!!! please remember to drop me a comment!!!!


	6. Chapter 6

The next few days passed in a blur. Optimus got less and less time with Megatron each day, too busy helping with the final preparations. The ceremony was coming way too fast and everyone was panicking.

 

He only got to truly see Megatron at night. He was always in that same spot on the floor, spread out on his stomach, faceplates buried in his arm or in the pillow Optimus unceremoniously dropped on his head. His snores roared through the still air. It kept Optimus up, but it - it was a relief to hear.

 

It made the nights more bearable. As scared as he was to go to Kaon or Tarn or wherever Megatron was whisking him away to - as scared as he was to be faced with that terrible loneliness again, it was a relief to know he was with Megatron.

 

His people’s enemy. His most feared rival.

 

His intended.

 

Optimus curled into a tight ball and wrapped himself in the blankets and Megatron’s snores. They would protect him from the dark and awful things that crowded around him.

 

In that safety, Optimus had a quiet realization:

 

Optimus liked Megatron.

 

\--

 

“What do you mean you’re not coming home with us?” Megatron said quietly.

 

Shockwave stood in front of him, free of his Iaconian guise. Purple, finally, instead of the gray and blue he’d been sporting for too long. Shockwave wouldn’t look him in the optics, his optic locked on a spot two inches to the left of Megatron’s head. A slow, creeping disappointment grew in Megatron.

 

“I’m sorry, old friend,” Shockwave said. Megatron’s spark ached for his friend. “But I have found that I enjoy working here, under Ultra Magnus, better than I did working under Lord Megazarak.” All the more reason for Megatron to kill the old fool quickly. “Ultra Magnus, while not by any means polite, retains a stricter hold on his people and his army. The command structure here makes logical sense - he does not shirk his responsibilities or act recklessly. He’s stable and, like many Iaconians, I have grown to rely upon it.

 

“While it is a relief to wear my old colors, my true colors, and to stand here and speak as myself, Longarm Prime has become an irremovable part of me. He is -  I failed at keeping him up as an act. I truly consider his friends my friends and his actions my own. Seventy-five years is a long time, old friend. I am Longarm as much as I am Shockwave.

 

“And besides,” Shockwave said, long claws clicking against each other, “I have. . . I have chosen to partake in some office romance. It has been - exciting, to say the least.” Megatron snorted.

 

“You’re gonna stay in Iacon so you can get your spike wet?” Megatron said dryly. Shockwave’s antennas twitched and shifted in embarrassment and discomfort. “I’m joking, old friend. I’m happy for you - if there’s anyone who should have an office romance, as you say, it should be you.”

 

“Thank you,” Shockwave said. He reached forwards to press a servo to Megatron’s shoulder. “I appreciate your support.”

 

“Any time,” Megatron said and Shockwave shifted form, color nanites changing as well, so he was back in the diminutive form of Longarm Prime. Longarm reached up with a long arm to press his servo to Megatron’s chest - Megatron knelt to rest his own servo over Longarm’s spark. “You will be missed, old friend.”

 

“And I will miss you,” Longarm said, Iaconian face twisted into something approximating sadness. Megatron smiled at the attempt and rose. “I will leave first.” And with that, he slipped from the room.

 

Megatron’s shoulders sagged. He had always assumed that after the war, Shockwave would return from Iacon unchanged. He thought - he thought Shockwave would stand by his side until the end of eternity. He never thought that Shockwave would grow to like living here, under the constant scrutiny, under a disguise, far from home. But he had.

 

And in the end, how could Megatron force him away from the home he’d built for himself?

 

Megatron understood it, in a way. Shockwave was a logical person, he’d always been logical.  And, from his experiences, it was a more logical choice to stay in Iacon, where he was getting the respect he deserved.

 

Megatron still wanted his old friend back. Some part of him wanted to go back to the mines, to live in the eternal dark, where everything made sense - where Strika worked alongside him, where he only had to think of his quota, where he knew he was needed and loved and respected, where his name was the one he’d chosen from hundreds of hours worth of religious stories.

 

But Megatron had a job to do, and city-states to liberate.

 

And a bonding ceremony.

 

\--

 

Iacon rose for the ceremony. Optimus peered out the window to the room that he shared with Megatron to see his people already in the streets, a last second festival entertaining the younglings while adults clutched their cubes of high grade. They danced and sang and cheered in the streets.

 

Optimus wished he could join them.

 

Instead, he carefully navigated around his intended’s motionless body - his intended’s snores roared through the air in vicious testament to his status of alive and well - and into the washracks. Optimus was sure he was about to get a good, long detailing, but it didn’t hurt anyone to arrive clean and ready.

 

In fact, he was sure whoever he’d been assigned would be happy about it. No one liked working on a dirty prince, or so Ultra Magnus had instilled in him as a protoform, safety first, safety second, polite society third.

 

So Optimus cleaned and tidied himself up, buffed out the chunks of his plating that he could, as stepped out of the room. At some point, his intended had woken up. He stared blearily out at the room, then got up and shuffled to the washracks. Optimus hesitated in the doorway as his intended settled half in and half out of the washracks.

 

Optimus checked his chronometer. He had some time.

 

“Do you need help?” Optimus asked carefully. His intended raised an optic ridge at him. Optimus shoved a hopeful smile on his face, over aware of the soft flutter of his spark. His intended looked at him, at the washracks, the showerhead in his servo, and back at Optimus.

 

“Yes, please,” he said. Optimus smiled and hurried over. He stepped over his intended and took the showerhead. 

 

He had been showering in cold water for the last couple days, Optimus realized when he turned on the spray. His fuel tank sunk down to his knees, but he shoved the feeling away.

 

It was ceremony day! He barely had time to help his intended shower!

 

Optimus changed the water temperature and pressure before starting in on his intended’s left side. A groan sunk of out his large frame, tension seeping from his limbs as Optimus hosed the wear and tear away.

 

“Could you -” he mumbled and shifted try to and fit his chest into the room.

 

“Here,” Optimus said and walked over. His intended stilled and Optimus rearranged him with careful servos - his intended now leaned back against the doorframe with his head on the inside of the washracks rather than out. One of his legs had made it inside as well, so he straddled the doorframe.

 

Optimus stood between large, silver thighs (very carefully not looking at places he shouldn’t be thinking about yet). He glanced up to see red optics locked on him, expression undecipherable. Optimus turned the water back on and sprayed his intended’s chest.

 

“Thank you,” his intended said as he reached for the soap. Optimus shrugged as the Tarnian rubbed it into the dirtier areas. Optimus’ chronometer beeped at him, a reminder of the detailing he was supposed to be at right now.

 

When the front and side were done, Optimus rearranged his intended so he leaned forward and hurried to stand behind him. For a second, for the barest half pulse of his spark, Optimus regretted the change in position. His intended’s back was big and broad and -

 

Optimus had read in stories how sometimes a mech would see how broad his partner’s back was and feel safer or - or sometimes get a little aroused and Optimus hadn’t really put much stock into but -

 

But. 

 

Optimus struggled to delete the entire thought process as he washed off the wide expanse of his intended’s back. He received a ping from Smokescreen and opened a secure channel.

 

::You’re late. You have a detailing starting four minutes ago, where the frag are you? You know bonding designs are an aft and a half to do.::

 

::Sorry, Smokescreen.:: Optimus said. He was about to explain just why he was about to be late, but his intended turned to face him.

 

“Ready to get bonded?” He said, smiling almost teasingly. The newfound knowledge of just how much he liked his intended reared its head and Optimus, to distract both himself and his spark’s excited pulsing, angled the showerhead to blast those smirking faceplates.

 

“Oh, slaggit.” Optimus mumbled as his intended spluttered.

 

::Optimus?::

 

His intended twisted, lightening fast, and made a grab for the showerhead. Optimus screeched and jumped out of the way. His intended caught onto the the pipe connecting the showerhead to the wall and tugged. Optimus, caught in the washracks with a growing smile, tried to hide behind the sink.

 

“My little prime,” his intended crooned as he reached around the sink. Optimus’ spark shuddered in its casing, delighted at the nickname. Optimus shook his head.

 

He darted out and launched himself at his intended. They slammed into each other, showerhead going flying. Optimus heaved himself after it.

 

His intended caught a hold of Optimus’ ped and brought him down with a resounding  _ clang _ . Optimus laughed. He caught the showerhead and turned it on his intended.

 

“Ha!” Optimus yelled before his intended grabbed the pipe and tugged. Optimus’ feet slipped against the wet floor and he was dragged closer. His intended was laughing, Optimus noticed, the sound going straight to his spark. Optimus threw all his strength into tugging the pipe, but his intended was stronger.

 

“Come here, little prime, so I can pay you back for that favor,” his intended drawled. Optimus, in the most immature motion he’d made in a long, long time, stuck out his tongue. his intended raised both eyebrow ridges.

 

::Optimus, answer me. Are you ok?::

 

The half sparked beginnings of a plan pulled together in Optimus’ processor.

 

“Alrighty, then,” Optimus said and abruptly let go. It jerked back and almost hit his intended in the head.

 

“Hey!” His intended yelped as Optimus ripped past him. He slammed into the wall of the washracks in his rush to get to the controls. His intended caught onto what he was doing.

 

Optimus just had a servo on the controls when water and solvent slammed into the side of his head. He spluttered and lurched away, laughter ringing through the air as he scrambled to turn off the flow.

 

“I win, my little prime,” his intended said with false sweetness. Optimus gestured rudely in his general direction.

 

“I turned it off, I won,” Optimus argued, just for the sake of arguing.

 

“Was that not surrender, considering you challenged me?” Optimus raised his servos to gesture again. “Ooh, now that is vulgar.” Optimus propped himself up to see his intended, slouched against the doorway, completely relaxed.

 

“I haven’t done something this silly since I was a youngling,” Optimus said quietly. His intended shook his head, faux disappointed.

 

“My dear prime,” he said, embarrassment and delicate joy at the nickname rushed through Optimus, “you  _ need _ to get out of the field more.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Optimus said and got up off the floor, “my people needed me on the field.” His intended’s smile, it was a beautiful smile too, dropped away at Optimus’ serious tone.

 

“Then I’ll just have to convince you to have fun,” he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Optimus snorted and shook his head, but he slipped out of the washracks, careful when stepping over those powerful legs.

 

“Good luck with that,” Optimus said. His intended caught Optimus’ servo and pulled him close. Optimus’ engine stalled out at the sudden proximity. Optimus snapped his jaw shut, suddenly only bare inches from his intended’s faceplates.

 

“Hey,” he said quietly, “this bonding won’t be all work, ok? We’re gonna have fun, I promise.” Optimus nodded, the movement jerky. “It’s gonna be ok.”

 

“Ok,” Optimus whispered. His intended smiled, this soft little thing, and Optimus’ own smile grew slowly in response.

 

The doorway slammed open.

 

Optimus and his intended blinked at Smokescreen, who stood alone in the doorway, optics wide.

 

“Oh,” Smokescreen said, servo coming up to point at them, “you’re - oh.”

 

“Oh, slag, the detailing,” Optimus gasped. Smokescreen nodded and held out a hand to Optimus.

 

“That’s exactly right,” Smokescreen said, still staring, “the detailing. Megatron has one too. You - yup. Detailing.” Optimus hurried over to his friend and looked back to find his intended getting up. “You know where you’re going, right Megatron?”

 

“Yes, I do,” he said. Smokescreen nodded and pulled Optimus from the room without so much as a goodbye.

 

“I can’t believe you two were making out this early in the morning, you horny fraggers!” Smokescreen hissed. Optimus dropped his head in his servos as Smokescreen rushed him down the hall. “I can’t believe you let yourself be late! For a booty call! Tell me that you at least haven’t called him by name yet!”

 

A strangled noise escaped Optimus’ voice box. Smokescreen shook his head as they rounded a corner. He broke into a flat out sprint and Optimus bolted after him, struggling to keep up with his faster friend.

 

Making out indeed.

 

\--

 

Megatron felt a little taken advantage of. Whoever they’d hired to paint on the traditional Iaconian bonding ceremony designs spent the entire time complimenting Megatron’s physique and saying slag like  _ Optimus is lucky to have you _ and  _ oh, look at the size of these servos _ and  _ I wonder if your equipment is proportionate to the rest of you because - well. Optimus  _ is  _ a little small, if you know what I mean. _

 

Megatron didn’t even know if he was supposed to feel complimented or more confident or?

 

But it did take the edge off.

 

Megatron was nervous, there were no two ways to put it. Part of him wanted the ceremony over already, wanted the next week to have already passed so he could be on his way home with his little Iaconian partner. He preferred that to this anxious waiting, the long drag of new developments.

 

Optimus - was Megatron allowed to think his name? Or was he limited to not saying it? Elita hadn’t been too descriptive when she’d explained Iaconian bonding ceremony traditions. -  had seemed to hold himself together pretty well, for the most part. His engine stalling out from proximity to Megatron had been adorable, if Megatron did say so himself.

 

Megatron was the lucky one to have Optimus, he thought, no matter what the detailing mech said about the matter. Brave little Optimus who grew more comfortable with Megatron as the days passed. Megatron was eager to find out what he was like when he was fully acclimated, when it had been months and they were still together and happy and comfortable.

 

The thought entertained Megatron when he was bored or alone. It lingered on the edges of his processor, this hopeful red and blue glow, bright in the shape of Optimus’ smile.

 

It was easy to imagine them together, making treaties and trade agreements with other city-states, dancing slow and emotional under the stars, sleeping together in Megatron’s new berth. And it got easier the more time they spent together. Is this how it was in real relationships? The more you got to know your partner, the easier it was to imagine eternity together?

 

Megatron would have to ask Strika and Lugnut, because if the answer was yes - if the answer was yes, Megatron would have to follow the path that kept them together the longest.

 

Which would involve killing Lord Megazarak.

 

Megatron had enjoyed the last couple days. He was so busy in Iacon, doing this and that, speaking to dignitaries, chipping away at the endless stacks of paperwork, that he hadn’t had the time to think about his pet assassination plots.

 

One against Lord Megazarak.

 

One against Ultra Magnus.

 

Megatron shifted as the talkative detailer directed him. Megatron had let himself avoid the topic, even in the safety of his own processor. He couldn’t afford to leave the two things alone.

 

But by Primus, he wanted to.

 

He didn’t want to think about taking over Kaon and Tarn officially, even if Optimus would be at his side. He didn’t want to think about all the decisions he’d have to make, all the reforms and changes they’d have to undergo to become a fully functioning city-state.

 

Kaonite and Tarn were falling apart under Lord Megazarak. Megatron didn’t have the rank to keep Kaon in line and Strika didn’t have the authority to keep a steady servo on Tarn yet. Which was why they had to get rid of Lord Megazarak. 

 

Megatron was a Tarnian miner, a Kaonite gladiator, the Second of both city-states. It was his duty to do what was best for his people, whether that was leading disaster relief efforts or getting bonded to a mech he only knew through warfare or - or assassinating his Lord. If it was for his people, he would do anything.

 

And Optimus knew that. Optimus had that same responsibility to his own people, he’d lived with it his whole life. And Optimus bore that responsibility beautifully.

 

But Megatron didn’t know if it would extend to staying with Megatron when the truth came out. And it would come out, Megatron already knew it would. Eventually, maybe after years, maybe directly after the assassination, Optimus would find out what Megatron had done - what he was currently doing. Megatron wouldn’t be able to hide this from his intended.

 

His soon-to-be bonded.

 

Megatron put such thoughts out of his mind. He was about to be bonded. He needed his wits about him. He and Optimus were about to bond, and then it’d be a week of interviews and paperwork and waking up to Optimus’ soft almost-snores and seeing Optimus’ smile and then they were off to Kaon for bonding-ceremony-part-two.

 

Megatron couldn’t afford to think about death right now.

 

\--

 

“You know the rules,” Sentinel said unhelpfully. Optimus glared over at him.

 

He and his officers stood in a room near the entrance to the hall the ceremony was taking place in. They were waiting on Ultra Magnus and Rodimus, who were getting their paint touched up. Sentinel stood just inside the doors, arms crossed over his chest. Smokescreen sat at his feet, munching on some snack or other, Elita curled into his side. Longarm stood off to the side, going over datapad after datapad.

 

“No displays of emotion, no mentioning him by name until the ceremony finishes, and no looking him in the optics until our sparks are bared,” Optimus recited, then sighed. “This is gonna be tough.”

 

“Has anyone told Megatron how this all works?” Smokescreen said. Elita slapped his shoulder with her free servo. The other arm, her prosthetic one, was pinned against Smokescreen’s chest, held there by Smokescreen’s shaking servos.

 

“I did, ages ago,” she said. Smokescreen mumbled an apology, stroking along her prosthetic arm. Optimus tried to ignore them, busy wearing a hole into the brick flooring. The ancient building materials weren’t even enough to distract Optimus from his nerves.

 

“Ok, but what if he forgets something?” The fear burst out of Optimus’ voice box. “What if  _ I _ forget something?” Elita groaned and dropped her head against the wall. Longarm extended a long arm and grabbed Optimus’ shoulder.

 

“It’s going to be fine,” he said, “everything’s gonna work out, don’t worry about it.” Optimus pushed the servo off his shoulder and flailed in Longarm’s general direction.

 

“Oh, you’re alright,” Optimus snarked, “you haven’t even asked Blurr out yet.” Longarm’s engine and voice box collaborated in a particularly intense revving-spluttering noise. 

 

“Optimus!” Longarm managed around his still stuttering engine. Smokescreen laughed, jostling Elita, who was grinning at their youngest friend.

 

“Take fragging that!” Smokescreen yelled. Sentinel pushed off the wall and sauntered over to Optimus. He threw an arm around Optimus and pulled him into his arms. Optimus clung to him.

 

“All these dangling things are annoying,” Sentinel said, instead of any comfort that Optimus needed. Optimus snorted anyway. His frame was decorated in little silver pieces, the metal molded to accent his frame. They were attached with magnets - usually, a mech could keep his bonding jewelry, but the Iaconian treasury was shrinking by the day. Optimus’ jewelry would be taken back and melted down to save for Rodimus’ eventual bonding ceremony.

 

He would get to chose his partner, anyhow.

 

Optimus tucked himself as close as he could get to Sentinel. His best friend rocked him, slowly and carefully. If Optimus listened hard enough, if he stretched himself to the limits, he could feel the pulse of Sentinel’s spark. Optimus drew what strength he could from it.

 

“It’s not even a real ceremony,” Optimus mumbled, safe in the presence of his officers. “It’s just for sure. We won’t be sharing sparks at the end.”

 

“Is that what’s been bothering you?” Elita asked. Optimus hesitated but - but it had been bothering him. Because sure, he liked his intended. Sure, they were getting along better than ever. Sure, they’d been able to navigate all the questions and sure, they seemed to be able to get away with it but - but. 

 

But at the end of this ceremony, Optimus and his intended and a witness would slip away into an empty room with a berth and they would pretend. Pretend to share sparks, pretend to become a united whole instead of two seperate parts.

 

Iacon wasn’t big on tradition, Iacon didn’t have any religious beliefs to go off of, but this was the one thing his people had stuck to. This was the one thing his people had clung to throughout the lawmaking and the wars. And Optimus was about to betray them completely.

 

And at the same time he was relieved, because as much as he trusted his intended, he couldn’t share a spark with him. Not yet. There was nothing there, no trust, no relationship aside from what was necessary. All of his intended’s reassurances, and Optimus still couldn’t tell if he meant it. 

 

Optimus hoped he did. Optimus really hoped he did.

 

So he nodded into Sentinel’s shoulder. Elita made a soft, cooing noise and walked over to him. She cupped Optimus’ cheeks in her palms. She kissed his forehead.

 

“You’re being an idiot,” she said. Optimus broke into a smile and dropped his head. “I’m serious! You’re overthinking this. Just because you don’t share sparks doesn’t make this any less a bonding. Just because you’re not physically there yet doesn’t mean the bond doesn’t exist. Your carrier never spark bonded and he’s -”

 

“Ultra Magnus didn’t ever take a bondmate,” Optimus interrupted, “he had me and Rodimus on his own. Accidents, the both of us.” Elita faltered and fell quiet. “I’m the first of my family to get bonded in recent history, and it’s not even real.”

 

“It’s real,” Sentinel said, “I swear it’s real.” Optimus, too emotional to argue about it, just nodded. Sentinel patted his back. “It’s gonna work out.”

 

“Yeah,” Optimus whispered. Sentinel patted his back a couple more times before he pulled back with a wicked grin.

 

“Hey, it’s better than the time when you and I tried to make energon ourselves, remember that?” He said and Optimus had to laugh. It had been such a ridiculous idea - a ridiculous attempt as well.

 

“You did what?” Elita gasped. Optimus shoved Sentinel, hard but not angry.

 

“Stop, you’re gonna get us in trouble again,” Optimus said. Elita crossed her arms, the fury of a thousand suns burning in her optics. Smokescreen leapt up and grabbed Optimus’ arms, careful not to mess with the decorations or jewelry.

 

“You need to give me all the details,” Smokescreen said, “as soon as possible. Preferably before you go off with your bonded.” Optimus shook his head with a little laugh.

 

The door swung open.

 

Optimus and his officers fell silent as Rodimus and Ultra Magnus entered the room. They saluted as one, and Ultra Magnus nodded in recognition. Everyone returned to their original positions, while Optimus held his arms behind his back, left wrist caught in his right servo.

 

“As you direct superior,” Ultra Magnus said quietly, “I will be holding the ceremony. You can pick one member of your,” he waved a servo at Optimus’ friends, “officers to supervise you and Megatron. The room will be soundproofed. Once you’re in, you and Megatron are done for tonight. Whoever you chose will have to come back out after two and half hours to confirm it’s over. Understood?”

 

“Understood,” Optimus said and Ultra Magnus nodded. He half turned, hesitated, then turned back to Optimus. He walked over, looking extremely uncomfortable, and pulled Optimus into a hug.

 

Optical fluid welled up in Optimus’ optics. He gasped as Ultra Magnus rest his cheekplates on the top of Optimus’ head, large servos patting his back awkwardly. It had been years since the last time Optimus had been hugged by Ultra Magnus - by his carrier. Emotion choked Optimus and he clung to his carrier.

 

“For what it’s worth,” Ultra Magnus mumbled. “I’m sorry it had to happen like this.” The words were like a slap in the face. Before Optimus could think of a response, Ultra Magnus pulled free, said, “five minutes. And then we start,” then left the room. Optimus stared after him, arms still raised, optics wide open and fluid dripping down his faceplates.

 

“Man,” Rodimus mumbled and slipped into Optimus’ arms himself, “it wouldn’t kill him to be a little more affectionate.” Optimus buried his head in Rodimus’ shoulder.

 

“It’s ok,” Optimus mumbled. Rodimus shook his own head with a sigh, but he didn’t say anything.

 

Ultra Magnus hadn’t hugged Optimus in years. Optimus had forgotten what it was like to be held by him. He’d forgotten how reassuring it was, how nice it was, to be hugged by someone you loved so much.

 

Hugging Ultra Magnus was different from hugging Sentinel, or Rodimus, or any of Optimus’ officers. It - Ultra Magnus was his carrier. Ultra Magnus had been the one to raise him. Even if Optimus didn’t really agree with his methods, even if Optimus had never really gotten any affection from him, even if - even if Optimus sometimes felt that Ultra Magnus didn’t love him, hugs were proof otherwise. They were proof that Ultra Magnus, his commander, his carrier, still loved him.

 

And now, on the day of his bonding ceremony, mere minutes before Optimus officially left his family -

 

_ I’m sorry it had to happen like this. _

 

Sorry what had to happen like this? Sorry Optimus had to get bonded like this? To a mech he only knew on the battlefield?  _ He  _ was sorry?

 

Optimus hated the treacherous little feeling in his spark, all geared up to yell and scream and rage at Ultra Magnus for everything he had done (and everything he hadn’t), but he was happy. He was  _ happy.  _ He was happy he got to bond to Megatron. Megatron was a good mech, for all Optimus could tell. Megatron was a good mech and he would be good to Optimus and - and -

 

And what right did Ultra Magnus have to say that? What right did Ultra Magnus have to say that on Optimus’ bonding day? Optimus had chosen this. Optimus had chosen to get bonded to Megatron, instead of Rodimus. He’d chosen to let this happen. Ultra Magnus had been there! 

 

And Ultra Magnus had turned away from the choice. One that he could have at least tried to take from his sons’ servos. 

 

If he truly felt sorry about it, if he had truly felt bad about letting his son sell himself to secure his nation’s future, shouldn’t he have done something then? Shouldn’t he have said something then? 

 

It wasn’t fair! He wasn’t allowed to hang back and do nothing while Optimus and Rodimus made all the hard choices! He wasn’t allowed to do nothing and then apologize like that! And especially not about something Optimus wanted!

 

(because he did want it, he wanted to bond to Megatron, he wanted to be that close to someone, to protect and love and be loved and protected, he wanted that security, that security that had always been denied to him -  _ he wanted it _ )

 

Optimus pulled out of Rodimus’ arms, carefully wiping away the liquid on his cheeks. He didn’t want to scratch or smear any of his paint.

 

“Ok?” Rodimus asked. Optimus shook his head.

 

“Angry,” Optimus whispered, “I’m so fragging angry.” Rodimus grinned at him.

 

“Well it’s about time,” Rodimus said with all the mischievous energy of a master prankster. “When do you want to take it out on carrier?” A heady relief filled Optimus. Someone understood. Rodimus understood him.

 

“As soon as possible,” Optimus said with a tentative smile, “but after the ceremony. I’ve got a warlord to bond to.” Rodimus laughed and cupped Optimus’ cheeks. He pressed their foreheads together, a comfort and a goodbye, and Optimus’ spark shattered in his chest. “Hey.”

 

“Hey,” Rodimus mumbled.

 

“Will you witness?” Optimus asked. Rodimus nodded and hugged him again, this time curled himself into Optimus, shoulders heaving. “Thank you, Roddy, thank you.”

 

\--

 

It’s beautiful, was Megatron’s first thought.

 

I’ve never been around so many foreign dignitaries, was his second.

 

The hall Optimus’ team had chosen for the ceremony was a good choice, in Megatron’s opinion. It was lit by huge chandeliers, old enough that the wires that held them up were visible where they curled around the chains that held them up. The light they shed was dappled by the little crystal decorations on the chandeliers. 

 

The whole building was made of brick, the domed ceiling’s structural supports carved in some ancient language. The walls were painted with religious imagery. Hadn’t Optimus said the Iaconian government was destroying all cultural and religious knowledge?

 

Megatron supposed none of the important Iaconians that sat at the long, heavily decorated tables - or even the Elite Guardsmechs that preceded Megatron into the room - knew what the imagery meant. But Megatron could recognize the designs on the stained glass behind the stage - the Allspark, and the Thirteen Primes. It wasn’t the religion he’d grown up with, but he’d lived in Kaon long enough to be able to recognize them now.

 

In the very center of the thirteen, with the Allspark superimposed over his chest, was Prima. Their version of Primus. Megatron stared at him as he walked down the aisle, alone, feeling a little silly for all the swirling designs and decorations on his frame.

 

May Primus help him through this, may Solomus make him wise to Optimus’ wants, may Epistemus give him the knowledge to keep Optimus safe and happy, may Adaptus help him and Optimus change and grow and learn together, may Mortilus take them at once, together, content.

 

Those were the vows he’d been taught to give his bonded. Those weren’t the vows he’d be giving today. He wouldn’t be saying anything. He’d stand, back struts straight, his faceplates serious, and then he would bare his spark to a room of strangers. Of enemies.

 

Of new allies.

 

The stage wasn’t a whole rectangle. One side had been lowered and the other raised a significant amount. Megatron thought it looked a little silly, but how else was Optimus and Megatron’s spark chambers supposed to be on the same level? Megatron was sure there was some thought put into it.

 

It just made him a little nervous, he supposed, because he stood shorter than Ultra Magnus. It was a disadvantage. Especially since Megatron was more used to fighting smaller mechs. Optimus included.

 

Megatron stepped up to his place on the stage. Behind Ultra Magnus was an arch, silver-white and woven with different colors of metalmesh and gold chains. The stained glass had been thoroughly cleaned and shined with the strength of the sun outside. Megatron tried to push down a shudder at Prima’s disapproving expression.

 

What was it with Iacon and being stern and disapproving? Megatron was going to have to make Optimus explain at some point. Which -

 

Speaking of Optimus.

 

The doors opened again. No one had told Megatron not to look, so he did.

 

In came Optimus’ officers. Smokescreen Prime and Shockwave in his Longarm disguise, then Sentinel Prime and Elita One. They were all cleaned and buffed and shiny, their Elita Guards badges glowing with their own pride (and copious amounts of polish, Megatron was sure).

 

Behind them was Optimus, on his little brother’s arm. Rodimus looked magnificent, as he usually did on special occasions. Megatron’s spies had informed him that Rodimus had a special polish he only used on important days - Megatron didn’t know how they found that out and honestly he didn’t want to.

 

But Optimus - Today Optimus shone brighter than his brother. Someone had touched up his paint, added the same swirling designs Megatron currently sported. He was covered in silver accents and jewelry. It all glittered and under the light of the chandeliers, Optimus practically glowed. 

 

Megatron couldn’t take his optics off of him.

 

Optimus’ officers split down on either side of the stage in the same way Megatron’s escort did. Rodimus stayed with his brother and walked him up to Optimus’ spot. Then he disappeared somewhere off to the side, Megatron had stopped paying attention.

 

Optimus was beautiful.

 

And Megatron knew that, he’d known for a long time now, but here, positively glowing, Megatron couldn’t move his optics away. He was sure there was something he was supposed to be doing, to be paying attention to, but he couldn’t. Optimus had walked in and at least half of Megatron’s processor jumped straight out the stained glass windows.

 

Optimus was - indescribable. Megatron felt a little like he was overreacting, it was still the same old Optimus, just with a different paint job.

 

But the other part of him, the long buried romantic part of him, had already keeled over, waxing poetic about Optimus. Waxing poetic! Megatron was an engineer, a mech of science!

 

And there went his processor, quoting songs and scripture and equating Optimus to the moons and stars, to Cyberton’s great fields of sparks, to Primus’ light and the barest hint of a refreshing wind on late, hot nights, to Mortilus’ aversion to taking the sparks of mechs much loved.

 

Ultra Magnus was saying something, but Megatron had long since stopped listening. Optimus, as soon as he had arrived, had steadfastly not looked at either Megatron or Ultra Magnus. But as soon as Ultra Magnus’ speech had finished, he turned to Megatron.

 

Optimus looked good when he was serious. He looked amazing all the time, said the love-struck part of Megatron’s processor. 

 

But Optimus’ seriousness reminded Megatron of the battlefield, of seeing him with his battlemask on, barking orders and fighting for his city-state.

 

Optimus would be a good match for Megatron, he thought, Optimus would be good for him.

 

Megatron, for the first time, hoped that he’d be able to kill Megazarak before he killed Ultra Magnus. Stupid warrior kings weren’t worth Optimus’ happiness. Nothing was worth Optimus’ happiness.

 

\--

 

Megatron was staring at Optimus.

 

Optimus didn’t really blame him, he’d be staring at Megatron too. But he was stuck on what Ultra Magnus had said. His processor looped around the same thoughts again and again and again.

 

\- how dare he how dare he how dare he -

 

But Megatron was staring at Optimus and Optimus was struggling to use that stare to ground himself. Ultra Magnus was still talking, so Optimus couldn’t exactly turn around now to talk to him but - Megatron looked good.

 

Megatron always looked good, but now, seeing him done up in traditional Iaconian bonding paints, seeing him all dressed up and ready to bond, glittering with rubies magnetized to his plating, all touched up and pretty, seeing him like that made Optimus want to beam and curl up somewhere, engine purring and radiating satisfaction.

 

Some part of Optimus never thought he’d be able to make it this far. Some part of him never thought he’d survive the war, never be able to get bonded, never get to see anyone painted up for him.

 

And now he had Megatron, unable to take his optics off Optimus, and Optimus wanted to smile.

 

He understood the don’t-smile-during-the-ceremony tradition now. It was hard, it took a lot of work. All those trashy romance novels Optimus had read as a youngling and cadet had explained it as a show of strength and well, that seemed to be true too. It was hard not to surrender to the giddy feeling in his chest.

 

Finally, finally, Ultra Magnus finished speaking (it was a speech about Megatron and Optimus and how they were “bridging the deep furrows war and dug into our seperate cultures” and how “their union is more than the bonding of two sparks, but also of the bonding of two city-states in an eternal alliance.”) and Optimus turned to Megatron.

 

“Hey,” Optimus whispered and took Megatron’s servos in his own. Ultra Magnus was explaining the next steps now, but Optimus had it memorized. Most people did, anyway.

 

“Hey,” Megatron whispered back. It took all of Optimus’ self control not to smile reassuringly up at him. Optimus opted to instead rub circles into Megatron’s palm. “Are you first or me?”

 

“I’ll go first,” Optimus said, “just follow my lead.” Megatron nodded and Ultra Magnus lapsed into silence.

 

With a concentrated effort, Optimus manually ordered his chest plates open. He’d decided not to get any of his armor removed for the ceremony. Each came with a slew of permissions and locking procedures to make sure Optimus couldn’t be jacked into and forced open during warfare. He didn’t mind it, not really.

 

The plates separated and pulled back away from his spark, piece by piece. Megatron was completely absorbed by it opening, his plating slowly lighting up with the blue of Optimus’ spark.

 

Optimus would be lying if he said it was easy to let himself open this much. He was even uncomfortable exposing his spark during medical checkups - when you had enough people clawing for your spark, protecting it became second nature. And Optimus knew it would be no different for Megatron.

 

It was why he let his chestplates open first. To show Megatron it would be fine. He was safe to expose his spark here.

 

Although with all the politically powerful mechs and femmes in the room, Optimus wouldn’t be surprised if Megatron refused to open his chest altogether. It was just asking to get assassinated.

 

But with the soft whine of hinges, Megatron’s chest cracked open. Optimus fought his facial expression to not give any of his thoughts away - thoughts that were limited to  _ wow it’s so bright _ and  _ why did I think it would look any different than mine _ and  _ when can I have some of that? _

 

All highly inappropriate seeing as they weren’t in love and weren’t getting bonded for real but - but Optimus wanted it, the same way he wanted Megatron’s servos on him, the same way he wanted Megatron’s lips on his.

 

“Megatron of Tarn, Champeon of the Pits of Kaon and Second to Lord Megazarak.” Ultra Magnus’ voice broke into Optimus’ thoughts. “Do you accept this bond with all your spark?”

 

“I do,” Megatron said. Calm, collected, and Optimus couldn’t hide his spark’s flare of excitement. Megatron’s lips twitched as a small murmur rose from the crowd.

 

“Prince Optimus, Prime and Commander of the Elite Guard,” Ultra Magnus said, “do you accept this bond with all your spark?”

 

“I do,” Optimus said, more confident than he felt. Megatron’s spark swirled and spun in his chest, pulses speeding and Optimus nearly broke his composure.

 

“Then I hereby announce you bonded for all eternity,” Ultra Magnus said.

 

\--

 

The room Rodimus lead Megatron and Optimus to was relatively small, only big enough for a berth and a comfortable looking arm chair. Optimus let go of Megatron’s servo, already sliding his chestplates shut. He flopped onto the berth with a soft groan. Megatron joined him after a second, his own heavily armored chest closing.

 

Optimus peered up at him, faceplates relaxing from how stern it had been for the last hour.

 

“Megatron,” he murmured, like it was a relief.

 

“Optimus,” Megatron answered, just as tenderly. Optimus smiled at him, wide and sweet and enchanting. Megatron promised himself he’d try and make Optimus smile at least once a day. At least once. More than that, if he could manage.

 

Rodimus flopped into the armchair. “There’s instructions for how to turn off visual and audio input systems.” Optimus snorted. Even that was a cute motion. Megatron didn’t have to hide an enamoured smile anymore so he didn’t.

 

“Having a witness to what is essentially interfacing is extremely uncomfortable and I don’t know why it’s a tradition,” Megatron decided to answer with. Optimus waved his servo, but he perked up at the chance to talk about history.

 

“The idea is that you chose one and I chose one, and they hook up when we do our thing,” Optimus said, visibly shoving down laughter, “I think it was started at like, the very beginning of Iacon. Like, right at the start. Probably by some high ranked mech or femme, otherwise it wouldn’t have caught on.”

 

“And you chose your brother,” Megatron said, deadpan. Optimus nodded, looking abashed.

 

“We’re not actually merging sparks,” Optimus said, “and the people trust Rodimus. If he says we did it, then we did it. Besides, me and him have an over elaborate prank to plan.” Megatron raised an interested optic ridge.

 

“Carrier was shitty today,” Rodimus explained, “which isn’t new. But it’s Optimus’ bonding day, you know?” Megatron nodded. “So we’re getting him back. You want in?”

 

“Of course,” Megatron said and rolled over onto his stomach so his back kibble wasn’t so uncomfortable. “What do you have in mind?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> w ow i'm never writing that much in one go again
> 
> thanks for reading and don't forget to leave me a comment (did i do the ceremony well enough cuz like,,,,, weddings are hard to write my dude)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Don't forget to leave me a comment, I really appreciate it!!!


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